^k'!^mj:^Vi^^      „  ■..;^;::;,.; 


3iji|i|i^|||fi;i;;^ii3f|Ptel^!^yi^^ 


^^^2^t^-tJ? 


t^ 


(/ 


URSULA. 


A    TALE    OF    COUNTRY    LIFE 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  AMY  HERBERT,  "  IVORS,' 
ETC.,  ETC. 


Come  away  :  for  Life  and  Thought 

Here  no  longer  dwell ; 

Brtt  in  a  city  glorious, 
A  great  and  distant  city,  have  bought 

A  mansion  incorruptible. 

Tenntson. 


IN    TWO      VOLUMES, 


VOL.  I. 


KEW  YORK: 
D.   APPLETON   &  CO.,    346    &  348   BEOADWAY. 

LONDON:    16   LITTLE    BRITAIN. 
1858. 


&AMA  fiAKBAiiA 


URSULA. 


CHAPTER  I. 


It  is  pleasant  to  remember  the  events  of  years  gone  by. 
I  shall  try  to  recollect  those  of  my  own  life.  I  may  not  be 
able  to  put  down  everything  regularly,  but  some  things  that 
have  happened  cannot  be  forgotten,  and  these  will  help  me  to 
others.  Mrs.  Weir  was  very  kind  in  teaching  me  as  she  did 
when  I  was  a  girl.  I  suppose  she  never  thought  of  the  use  I 
should  put  my  learning  to ;  and  perhaps,  after  all,  it  may 
not  be  of  use.  I  took  little  heed  to  advice  which  was  given 
me  when  I  was  young,  and  so,  perhaps,  no  heed  will  be 
given  to  me  when  I  tell  of  my  mistakes  and  difficulties.  But 
time  goes  on  fast,  and  I  would  fain,  if  I  could,  act  up  now  to 
what  Mrs.  Weir  used  to  say,  in  her  gentle  way :  "  Ursula, 
my  child,  we  must  do  good  in  our  generation."  God  knows, 
I  have  done  little  enough  in  mine.  I  may  not  always  have 
fallen  short  wilfully,  but  there  is  not  much  comfort  in  such  a 
thought  when  one  sees  what  has  been  neglected,  except  as 
regards  oneself  and  the  hope  of  forgiveness.  Anyhow,  I  can 
but  strive  to  make  up  for  it,  and  the  thought  of  having 
striven  may  be  a  comfort  when  I  come  to  die. 

I  must  begin  at  the  beginning,  the  time  which  I  can  first 
remember.  That  was  when  we  all  lived  at  Sandcombe — my 
father,  and  mother,  and  William,  and  Roger,  and  I ; — but  I 
don't  know  much  of  those  days.  The  farm  must  have  been 
very  difiereut  then  from  what  it  is  now,  and  people's  ways  of 
going  on  must  have  been  difiercnt  too.  I  remember  my 
mother  always  wore  a  cotton  or  stufi'  gown,  with  a  coloured 


4  URSULA. 

lumdkcrcliicf  folded  over  her  neck,  and  used  to  get  up  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  help  about  all  kinds  of  things 
which  we  should  leave  to  the  maids,  and  I  can  quite  well 
recollect  going  out  with  her  to  see  the  cows  milked,  and  her 
teaching  one  of  the  dairy-maids  how  to  churn  the  butter;  but 
almost  everything  else  is  gone  from  me,  for  I  have  known 
Sandcombe  since,  and  so  the  notions  I  have  of  it  are  con- 
fused. My  father  and  mother  died  when  I  was  about  six 
years  old.  My  father  was  taken  first ;  he  had  been  failing  a 
long  time  :  he  caught  a  cold  from  being  overheated  at  har- 
vest, and  never  recovered  it,  and  my  poor  mother  took  a 
fever  soon  after,  and  was  ill  for  a  month,  and  then  she  went  too. 
It  was  a  great  grief  to  me,  though  I  could  not  understand  it 
properly.  My  mother  was  a  very  good  woman,  and  taught 
me  in  the  best  way  she  could ;  but  she  never  had  much 
learning,  and  was  always  busy,  and  so  I  had  been  left  a  good 
deal  to  my  own  ways,  and  was  spoilt  and  very  headstrong. 
The  only  person  who  could  manage  me  properly  was  my 
brother  Roger,  and  I  don't  know  how  he  did  it,  for  he  was 
never  quick  with  me  as  William  was,  but  somehow  I  loved 
him  more  than  any  one  else  from  the  time  I  was  a  baby. 
They  used  to  say,  that  when  I  was  in  arms,  if  I  cried,  they 
always  gave  me  to  Koger  to  be  quieted ;  and  I  suppose  the 
same  feeling  grew  up  with  me  afterwards  :  yet  in  those  days 
I  could  not  have  known  properly  what  there  was  to  love  in 
him,  and  there  were  some  things  about  Lim  which  might 
naturally  have  frightened  me.  He  was  a  very  tall,  large- 
made  man-,  quite  noted  all  round  the  country  for  his  strength, 
— the  best  rider  and  cricketer  to  be  found  for  miles.  He 
had  a  power  of  work  which  was  quite  wonderful ;  up  in  the 
morning  with  the  labourers,  and  later  to  bed  than  any  of  us, 
and  never  seeming  to  want  sleep  as  others  did.  His  manner, 
though  kind,  was  rough,  and  his  voice  was  rather  harsh.  He 
spoke  out  his  mind  plainly  when  called  upon,  but  at  other 
times  he  was  much  given  to  silence.  These  things  were  not 
likely  to  win  a  child's  heart ;  but  there  is  something,  I  am 
sure,  which  God  gives  to  such  little  ones  to  teach  them  whom 
they  may  trust ;  and  so  it  was  that  not  a  baby  ever  came  into 
the  house  but  it  would  go  to  Roger  at  once.  It  was  his 
fancy  for  children   which  they  felt,  I  suppose,  for  he  was 


URSULA.  5 

curiously  fond  of  tiaem.  He  had  a  tender  way,  indeed,  with 
everything  which  was  put  under  his  care,  or  made  to  lean 
upon  him  :  colts,  and  kittens,  and  puppies  were  his  delight, 
when  he  could  not  get  hold  of  a  child.  It  was  such  a  pleasure  to 
him,  I  imagine,  to  feel  his  own  great  strength  by  the  side  of 
their  weakness.  I  don't  think  he  was  ever  happier  than 
when  he  could  take  nic  up  in  his  arms  and  carry  me  out  to 
the  yard,  and  set  me  on  the  back  of  one  of  the  huge  waggon- 
liorses,  and  make  it  carry  me  round  the  field.  He  and  the 
horse  seemed  to  be  so  entirely  of  one  mind ;  and  when  he 
saw  I  was  not  frightened,  he  would  pat  me  on  the  shoulder 
and  say,  "  There's  a  Trot !  " — it  was  his  pet  name  for  me, — 
"  she'll  make  a  woman  after  all !  "  He  had  a  great  notion 
that  women  were  not  to  be  cowards,  and  I  don't  think  I  was 
a  coward  about  anything  but  the  dark;  I  never  liked  that. 
All  this  alone,  however,  would  never  have  made  me  feel  for 
Roger  as  1  did  when  I  grew  up.  But  when  I  began  at  all  to 
understand  things,  I  felt  that  there  was  something  about  him 
difi"ereut  from  most  other  people,  beside  his  tender  heart  and 
his  great  strength.  William  was  kind,  too,  and  a  strong, 
bluff-looking  man,  with  a  hearty,  good-natured  manner ;  but 
the  two  brothers  were  quite  unlike.  In  those  days  we  did 
what  is  seldom,  I  believe,  done  now;  we  dined  at  the  same 
time  as  the  servants,  in  a  little  room  opening  out  of  the 
kitchen,  which  has  since  been  altered.  When  William  came 
in  to  dinner,  every  one  had  to  make  way  for  him,  and  he  had 
the  best  of  all  there  was  put  before  him,  and  nothing  was 
thought  of  till  he  was  cared  for.  It  was  all  very  proper,  for 
he  was  the  eldest  and  the  master ;  but  then  he  took  it  so 
much  as  his  right,  and  never  seemed  to  consider  whether 
others  were  comfortable  so  long  as  he  had  what  he  wanted 
himself.  But  Boger  never  forgot  any  one.  Before  he  sat 
down  he  had  a  kind  word,  though  it  might  be  rough-spoken, 
even  for  the  little  girl  who  helped  in  the  dairy,  and  whom  he 
never  saw  except  at  meal-times.  He  was  a  little  hasty,  and 
so  was  William ;  but  lloger  always  said  he  was  sorry,  and 
William  never  did.  They  had  different  ways,  too,  of  doing 
kindnesses ;  W'illiam  made  a  fuss  about  his,  and  talked  as  if 
he  was  afraid  they  would  be  forgotten,  but  I  don't  think 
lloger  ever  knew  when  he  was  kind ;  it  came  to  him  as  easily 


6  URSULA. 

as  eating  or  drinking.  He  was  not,  like  some  people,  put 
out  by  being  thanked,  but  he  laughed  as  though  it  was 
strange  to  him  that  what  he  had  done  should  be  thought  of 
any  consequence.  There  were  deeper  things,  besides,  which 
made  the  difference, — things  which  I  can  sec  into  now, 
though  I  could  only  feel  them  then.  William  would  give 
out  an  oath  sometimes,  when  he  was  very  angry ;  but  let 
Iloger  be  provoked  to  the  utmost,  yet  a  bad  word  never 
passed  his  lips.  He  had  the  fear  of  God  before  his  eyes 
more  than  any  man  I  ever  knew  :  not  in  talking, — he  was 
shut  up  about  religion  to  grown-up  people,  and  seldom  came 
out  about  it  at  all,  indeed,  except  to  children, — but  he  made 
everybody  feel  it,  in  a  way  which  was  wonderful.  When 
William  had  let  out  an  oath,  he  would  beg  Roger's  pardon, 
as  though  he  had  been  a  clergyman.  After  my  mother's 
death,  Roger  was  the  person  who  took  care  that  I  should  re- 
member to  say  my  prayers,  and  learn  my  catechism.  He 
was  fond  of  reading  himself,  and  liked  to  see  me  take  to  it, 
and  when  I  was  a  very  little  thing,  he  used  to  hear  me  read 
a  hymn  on  Sunday,  and  then,  when  I  was  older,  a  chapter  in 
the  Gospel,  and  when  I  had  done,  he  would  set  me  on  his 
shoulder  as  a  reward,  and  carry  me  round  the  kitchen.  He 
was  more  my  teacher  in  those  days  than  any  one.  I  had  a 
kind  of  nurse  to  look  after  me,  but  she  had  work  to  do  be- 
sides, and  she  was  very  ignorant,  only  a  labourer's  widow, 
who  had  never  been  to  school.  I  might  have  grown  up  like 
a  little  heathen  but  for  Roger,  for  I  was  so  young,  and  so 
tiny  of  my  age,  that  my  brothers  did  not  like  me  to  go  across 
the  down  by  myself  to  school,  either  to  Compton  or  Hatton ; 
and  Sandcombe  was  a  very  lonely  place,  there  were  no  older 
children  near  who  could  take  me  with  them.  The  plan  was 
talked  about  sometimes,  and  the  clergjrman  from  Compton 
called  several  times,  and  said  it  would  be  a  good  thing  ;  but 
William  always  put  it  off,  and  declared  there  was  time 
enough  before  me.  Thus  I  went  on  till  I  was  nine  years  old, 
without  having  had  any  teaching  except  what  I  had  learnt 
first  from  my  mother  and  then  from  Roger.  But  I  knew  a 
great  deal,  for  such  a  child,  about  pigs,  and  horses,  and 
cows,  and  dairy-work,  and  that  might  have  been  as  good  for 
me  as  books ;  for  1  had  such  a  natural  liking  for  learning, 


URSULA.  7 

that  when  I  was  put  in  the  way  of  it  I  took  to  it  at  once, 
without  any  trouble,  and  the  liking  has  stood  by  me  all  my 
life. 

I  lived  at  Sandcombe,  never  thinking  of  a  change,  for 
what  child  ever  does  think  of  it  ?  Roger  was  all  in  all  to 
me,  and  I  had  no  thought  of  being  parted  from  him.  So 
it  was,  that  it  came  upon  me  one  day  suddenly  like  a 
thunderbolt,  that  there  was  an  idea  of  his  leaving  us.  I 
don't  think  I  quite  believed  it, — it  seemed  like  an  impossi- 
bility,— but  it  frightened  me  without  my  understanding  it, 
and  T  jumped  upon  his  knee  (he  had  been  playing  with  me 
just  before  I  went  to  bed,  and  he  was  sitting  inside  the  great 
open  hearth  in  the  inner  kitchen),  and  put  my  arms  round 
his  neck,  and  said,  he  was  Father  Roger  and  Brother  Roger, 
and  I  would  go  wherever  he  went,  and  no  one  should  take 
me  from  him. 

I  believe  those  words  decided  my  ftite.  My  father  had 
died  only  moderately  well  off;  he  had  his  farm  stock,  but 
not  much  else.  All  had  been  left  to  my  mother,  and  after 
her  to  my  brothers.  I  dare  say  it  was  intended  to  make 
some  provision  for  me,  but  the  business  was  put  off  and  never 
done.  William  managed  the  farm  for  my  mother  whilst 
she  lived.  He  and  Roger  were  both  a  great  many  years 
older  than  myself.  There  had  been  a  number  of  children 
between  us,  but  they  had  all  died  very  young;  and  I  sup- 
pose this  circumstance  made  me  all  the  more  a  pet. 

After  my  mother's  death,  William  proposed  to  keep  on 
the  farm,  and  Roger  stayed  on  for  some  time  to  help  liiui, 
but  somehow  it  did  not  quite  do ;  William  liked  his  own 
way  and  was  apt  to  speak  out,  and  Roger  remembered  (I 
know  it,  because  he  often  told  me  of  it  in  after  years)  that 
saying  in  the  Bible,  "  A  brother  oifendcd  is  harder  to  be  won 
than  a  strong  city;"  and  so  he  would  not  put  himself  any 
longer  in  the  way  of  it,  but  proposed,  instead,  that  there 
should  be  some  equal  division  of  the  property  made,  and 
then  that  he  should  go  forth  to  seek  his  own  fortune. 

That  was  quite  Roger's  fashion, — avoiding  ofience,  ho 
used  to  call  it.  Some  persons  said  he  was  often  unwise,  and 
could  not  stand  up  properly  for  his  own  rights ;  and  there 
might  have  been  some  truth  in  their  words,  but  I  loved  him 


8  U  K  S  U  L  A  . 

all  the  better  for  giving  up,  because  it  was  so  unlike  -what  I 
should  have  done  myself.  Of  all  things  I  hated  being  put 
upon ;  and  when  I  was  a  very  little  thing  I  used  to  strike 
my  fist  upon  the  table,  and  say,  "  You  dare !  "  when  any 
one  offended  me,  and  I  might  have  gone  on  saying  "  You 
dare  !  "  till  now,  but  for  lloger. 

William  was  honest  and  just  in  his  ways,  according  to 
the  world's  notion  of  justice,  and  he  and  Roger  settled  their 
business  very  amicably,  both  of  them  agreeing  that  a  por- 
tion should  be  set  aside  for  me ;  and,  no  doubt,  I  was  as 
well  off  as  though  the  will  had  been  made  out  by  a  lawyer. 

When  William  put  his  name  to  the  agreement,  he  said 
out  strongly  (so  lloger  told  me  afterwards)  that  the  child 
should  never  know  want  whilst  he  had  a  penny  to  give  her. 
It  was  very  kind  of  him.  I  dare  say  he  talked  more  than 
Roger,  who  said  little  about  things  he  cared  for. 

They  put  aside  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  for  me, 
and  then  Roger  and  William  divided  the  rest. 

And  now  Roger  meant  to  leave  Sandcombe.  William 
intended  to  marry  as  soon  as  he  could,  for  he  said  he  should 
never  manage  without  a  "  missis  "  to  look  after  things.  As 
for  me,  there  was  a  notion  of  sending  me  to  school.  We  were 
about  eight  miles  from  Hove,  the  market-town.  It  was  a 
very  good-sized,  flourishing  place,  and  there  were  decent 
schools  in  it :  one  was  kept  by  a  cousin  of  my  mother's,  and 
it  was  thought  that  I  should  do  very  well  there.  I  was  to 
come  back  to  Sandcombe  for  the  holidays,  and  William  hinted 
that  by  and  by,  when  he  had  a  "  missis,"  I  might  return 
and  live  there  entirely. 

lloger  had  sometimes  thought  of  going  to  Canada,  and 
setting  up  for  himself  there  as  a  fai-mer ;  and  no  doubt  he 
might  have  done  very  well.  But  then  he  could  not  possibly 
have  taken  me  too ;  and  seeing  me  so  bent  upon  staying 
with  him,  he  began  to  think  of  something  else.  I  fancy  also 
it  came  across  him  that  I  might  have  a  doubtful  kind  of 
life  Avith  William  and  his  wife.  William  was  all  for  this 
world, — making  money;  not  dishonourably,  but  still  making 
it, — and  he  had  his  eye  (Roger  knew  this)  upon  a  hard  kind 
of  young  woman  living  at  Hatton  Farm,  two  miles  from  us, 
whose  father  was  said  to  be  very  well  to  do  in  the  world. 


URSULA.  9 

Leah  Morris  was  lier  name.  Roger  never  liked  lier,  and  she 
never  liked  Roger.  I  don't  think  he  took  kindly  to  the  no- 
tion of  my  being  left  under  her. 

He  kissed  me  very  much  when  I  clung  to  him  that  night, 
but  be  made  no  promises ;  only  he  whispered,  "  Ursie,  little 
one,  we  will  do  what  God  tells  us;"  and  then  he  bade  me  go 
to  bed,  and  I  went  and  cried  myself  to  sleep. 

I  did  not  see  Roger  again  till  the  next  day  at  dinner.  He 
was  out  to  work  too  early  for  me ;  but  I  always  dined  with 
him  and  with  William  in  the  little  parlour.  The  farm-ser- 
vants sat  at  a  long  table  in  the  kitchen,  and  we  in  the  inner 
room  could  see  all  that  went  on.  William  was  very  strict 
with  his  servants ;  he  kept  them  all  in  excellent  order ;  aTid 
treated  them  very  fairly.  They  had  good  food,  and  enough 
of  it.  Sandcombe  bacon  had  quite  a  name  in  the  country ; 
and  the  cheese,  though  it  was  so  hard  that  it  almost  required 
a  hatchet  to  cut  it,  had  a  very  good  flavour  when  it  had 
been  kept  a  little  while ;  and  some  of  our  friends  at  Hove 
used  to  have  a  present  of  a  cheese  made  them  once  a  year, 
they  were  so  fond  of  it.  It  was  a  pretty  sight  enough  to  see 
the  dinner.  The  inner  kitchen  was  much  higher  than  the 
rooms  that  are  built  in  these  days.  It  had  a  great  oak  beam 
going  across  it,  and  there  were  odd  things  hung  about  the 
walls, — a  pair  of  stag's  horns,  and  some  guns,  and  an  old 
leathern  jack,  such  as  people  used  to  drink  out  of  in  very 
old  days;  it  was  given  to  my  grandfather,  and  was  very 
much  prized.  And  all  the  pots,  and  pans,  and  dishes 
were  kept  bright  and  clean,  and  the  stone  floor  was  con- 
stantly swept  and  scrubbed.  It  was  a  very  bright  kitchen  in 
summer,  when  the  sun  came  in,  in  a  kind  of  dancing  way, 
through  the  leaves  of  the  clematis,  and  the  Virginia  creeper, 
which  had  been  trained  up  the  divisions  of  the  windows. 
But  I  liked  it  best  in  winter ;  when  the  flames  of  the  wood- 
tire  in  the  open  hearth  made  the  near  part  of  the  room  look 
as  if  it  was  coloured  red ;  whilst  out  in  the  corners  there  was 
a  kind  of  goblin  darkness,  even  in  the  day-time.  Sometimes, 
when  it  was  very  cold,  I  used  to  beg  to  have  my  dinner  by 
the  kitchen  fire,  and  then  I  took  a  little  wooden  stool  quite 
inside,  under  the  black  walls  of  the  hearth,  and  sat  snugly 
with  my  plate  in  my  lap,  and  the  servants  turning  round  to 
1* 


10  URSULA. 

look  at  me,  and  asking  if  I  was  comfortable,  and  trying  to 
entice  me  out  to  their  table.  That  was  all  very  happy.  I 
felt  myself  to  be  cared  for  by  every  one.  But,  on  the  day  I 
have  mentioned,  I  had  no  wish  to  go  to  the  kitchen  hearth, 
though  it  was  very  cold  for  the  spring  season.  I  kept  close 
by  Roger  in  the  little  parlour,  and  said  nothing;  the  sight 
of  him  made  me  ready  to  cry.  "What  he  had  said  about 
going  away  came  back  to  me  so  sadly.  He  and  William  sat 
together  after  dinner  with  their  pipes,  as  was  their  custom. 
William  wished  me  away,  I  suppose ;  for  I  know  that  when 
I  took  my  doll  to  play  with,  that  I  might  have  an  excuse  for 
sitting  by  Roger's  knee,  he  said  sharply,  that  I  must  be  off 
to  the  kitchen,  I  was  only  in  the  way  there :  and  I  ran  off, 
half  angry,  half  sorrowful,  and  told  Deborah,  the  kitchen- 
girl,  that  I  was  come  to  help  her  put  away  the  things ;  but 
all  the  time  that  I  was  carrying  the  plates  into  the  scullery, 
I  was  watching  William  and  Roger,  for  I  was  quite  sure  that 
they  were  talking  about  something  which  concerned  me. 

And  so,  sure  enough,  they  were.  It  was  a  very  long 
conversation  ;  and  Deborah,  who  was  rather  given  to  be  pert, 
said  to  me,  that  she  thought  master  had  forgotten  there  was 
any  work  to  be  done  in  the  world,  he  spent  so  much  time 
over  his  pipe ;  but  they  both  came  out  of  the  parlour  to- 
gether at  last ;  Roger  looking  very  brimful  of  something  im- 
portant ;  and  before  I  could  speak,  he  caught  me  up  in  his 
arms,  and  said,  "  Well,  Ursie,  what  do  you  say  ?  will  you 
go  with  brother  Roger  to  live  at  Dene-?  " 

I  don't  know  what  I  answered,  for  I  scarcely  knew  what 
he  meant ;  but  my  heart  seemed  to  leap  up  into  my  mouth 
for  joy,  and  I  kissed  him  a  great  many  times  ;  and  he  was 
in  such  spirits,  he  put  me  on  his  shoulder  (for  I  was  very 
small,  not  much  bigger  than  many  children  of  six),  and  car- 
ried me  across  the  room  as  he  used  to  do ;  whilst  Deborah 
screamed  with  fright,  and  William  told  him  he  ought  not  to 
make  a  fool  of  himself. 

I  did  not  understand  why  we  were  to  live  at  Dene  till  a 
long  time  afterwards,  and  then  no  one  told  me  exactly,  but  I 
learnt  about  it  by  degrees. 

Dene  was  a  gentleman's  house  lying  under  the  down 
which  rose  just  behind   Sandcombe.     The  two  places  could 


URSULA.  11 

not  have  been  more  than  three-quarters  of  a  mile  apart;  but 
I  had  not  often  been  close  to  Dene,  for  whenever  I  went 
away  from  the  farm,  I  used  almost  always  to  go  over  the 
down  to  Compton,  or  in  the  opposite  direction  along  the 
ridge  to  Hatton,  those  being  the  two  villages  nearest  to  us. 

The  family  at  Dene  were  only  there  every  now  and  then, 
and  we  had  nothing  to  do  with  them,  for  they  kept  cows,  and 
poultry,  and  pigs  for  themselves,  and  we  sent  all  ours  to  the 
market  at  Hove. 

But  just  at  this  time,  it  seemed,  Mr.  Weir  wanted  to 
make  some  change  in  the  place,  and  had  an  idea  that  it  would 
be  a  good  thing  to  have  a  respectable  head  man  living  there, 
who  might  look  after  the  cottages  belonging  to  the  estate, 
and  also  superintend  things  about  the  grounds ;  and  search- 
ing about  for  such  a  person,  he  heard  of  Roger,  and  made 
him  the  offer  of  going  there. 

It  was  not  quite  to  Roger's  taste.  He  had  been  used  to 
a  farm,  and  to  more  freedom  in  his  ways.  Though  William 
often  spoke  out  to  him  when  he  was  angry,  it  was  not  like 
having  a  master  over  him.  He  could  answer  again,  if  he 
liked  it :  not  that  he  ever  did ;  but  there  is  a  comfort — I 
have  found  it  myself — in  feeling  that  one  might  answer  if  one 
chose.  Now  Mr.  Weir  had  the  character  of  being  a  stern, 
fidgety  man,  and  Roger  was  likely  to  have  a  good  deal  of 
trouble,  and  perhaps  not  to  please  him  after  all ;  though,  if 
he  could  not,  I  don't  know  who  could.  But  then,  on  tlie 
other  hand,  there  was  no  risk.  He  would  have  a  fixed  sum, 
and  a  house  to  live  in,  and  a  home  for  me.  That  told  witli 
him  more  than  all  the  rest.  He  would  be  able  to  keep  a  girl 
to  look  after  me,  and  I  might  be  taught  to  read,  and  write, 
and  cipher,  at  Compton  School,  and  he  would  have  mc  always 
with  him.  It  might  not  have  been  a  very  wise  reason  for 
Roger's  choice.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  for  me 
to  have  been  sent  to  people  who  could  have  kept  me  more 
strictly ;  but  I  suppose  there  was  something  in  the  feel  of 
my  arms  round  his  neck,  and  the  many  kisses  I  gave  him, 
which  touched  him,  and  made  him  think,  as  he  said,  that 
God  had  given  me  to  him,  and  he  could  not  part  with  me. 
I  have  felt  in  that  way  myself  in  after  years,  when  a  child 
has  seemed  to  love  me  very  much.    People  say  it  is  a  woman's 


12  URSULA. 

weakness,  but  I  think  men  have  it  oftener  than  they  choose 
to  own. 

What  went  on  after  that  I  do  not  at  all  recollect,  though 
I  know  it  seemed  to  take  a  long  time  to  settle  everything. 
William  and  Roger  had  a  great  deal  to  manage  with  the 
farm,  and  questions  about  money  to  arrange.  After  a  good 
deal  of  talking,  it  was  decided  that  some  of  Roger's  money 
should  be  left  with  William  to  lay  out  upon  the  farm,  and 
that  he  should  have  good  interest  for  it,  and  be  able  to  claim 
it  again,  after  due  notice,  whenever  he  wished.  It  seemed 
the  best  plan  for  the  time  ;  and  William  was  very  trustwor- 
thy. Roger  had  an  additional  reason  for  being  prudent,  be- 
cause he  was  to  take  charge  of  me,  and  he  wished  to  put  by 
my  little  money  for  the  time  when  I  should  be  grown  up, 
and  keep  me  himself  now  out  of  his  own.  There  was  no  ac- 
tual right  in  the  matter,  not  what  the  world  calls  right ;  yet 
I  have  always  felt  that  the  fair  way  would  have  been  for 
William  to  have  helped.  But  he  never  said  anything  ;  he 
seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  Roger  would  manage  it  all 
comfortably.  He  had  a  fashion  of  letting  his  own  share  of  a 
burden  fall  upon  another  person's  shoulders,  and  never  ap- 
pearing to  think  that  he  was  bound  to  assist  in  carrying  it. 
And  because  he  kept  so  aloof,  people  imagined  at  last  that 
he  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  don't  think  it  ever  entered 
Roger's  head  that  he  was  undertaking  more  than  his  share  in 
paying  all  my  expenses ;  and  I  am  sure  that  William  never 
thought  himself  anything  but  a  most  excellent  brother. 


CHAPTER  II. 

We  walked  over  to  Dene  late  one  bright  summer's  evening, 
about  two  months  after  the  plan  had  been  first  talked  about. 
I  just  remember  that.  I  don't  recollect  what  the  country 
looked  like ;  but  it  must  have  been  very  beautiful  if  it  at  all 
resembled — as  of  course  it  did — what  I  have  known  it  since. 
The  down  behind  Sandcombe  is  a  long  ridge,  as  I  have 
said  ;  but  towards  the  south  it  rises  up  in  a  great  hill,  called 
St.  Anne's  Hill,  from  the  summit  of  which  there  is  a  view 


URSULA.  13 

for  many  miles  round,  over  the  land  and  over  the  sea ;  for  it  is 
very  near  the  sea,  not  above  a  mile  distant.  The  coast  forms 
part  of  a  great  bay,  indented  by  smaller  ones.  The  shore  is 
closed  in  with  red  sand-clifts,  rather  low,  broken,  and  jagged; 
but  away  to  the  west  the  red  sand  changes  into  chalk, 
and  the  cliffs  become  very  steep,  and  rise  to  a  great  height; 
standing  out  against  the  sky,  when  the  sun  shines  on  them, 
until  they  almost  dazzle  the  eye ;  and  at  other  times  covering 
themselves,  as  it  were,  with  a  blueish  veil  of  mist,  and  look- 
ing out  proudly  from  behind  it.  I  always  liked  the  white 
cliffs  very  much,  yet  my  eye  never  rested  upon  them  long, 
but  wandered  still  further,  to  a  distant  stretch  of  grey  land, 
looking  like  a  cloud,  which  could  be  seen  just  where  the  sea 
and  the  sky  met.  It  was  an  island  very  far  off.  The  shep- 
herds on  the  down,  I  have  been  told,  often  watch  it  to  see 
whether  it  is  clear  or  misty.  Whenever  it  is  seen  quite 
plainly,  they  say  there  is  to  be  a  change  of  weather.  That 
was  not  my  reason  for  gazing  upon  it  as  a  child ;  but  it  was 
a  spot  which  I  could  not  reach,  or  hope  to  reach,  and  I  had 
notions  of  a  life  there  which  should  be  quite  apart  from  trouble 
or  care,  and  in  which  I  should  have  the  rule,  and  make  every 
one  happy;  and  so  it  was  the  land  of  my  day-dreams. 

Below  the  ridge  of  Sandcombe  Down  the  ground  is  very 
flat  for  a  long  way.  From  the  edge  of  the  cliff  it  is  level  for 
miles,  cut  up  into  corn-fields  and  pastures,  with  a  few  trees 
dotting  the  hedge-rows.  People  have  said  that  it  is  a  barren- 
looking  country,  and  wanted  wood ;  but  it  was  never  barren 
to  me.  There  was  always  variety  in  it.  The  clouds,  when 
they  drifted  over  the  sky,  cast  shadows  upon  the  fields ;  and 
the  sun,  when  it  burst  out,  gleamed  across  them  in  long 
streaks  of  light ;  and  sometimes  touched  the  tower  of  a 
church,  or  seemed  as  if  it  were  trying  to  light  up  the  old 
castle,  standing  on  the  hill  close  to  Hove.  For  we  could  see 
as  far  as  Hove,  and  beyond  it,  from  Sandcombe  Down  : 
away,  indeed,  to  where  the  river,  which  had  its  source  close 
to  us,  and  was  then  only  a  tiny  brook,  became  quite  a  broad 
stream,  and  deep  enough  to  float  vessels.  We  could  follow 
it  till  it  reached  a  little  seaport  a  few  miles  from  Hove,  and 
trace  beyond  it  a  blue  line  of  sea,  appearing  here  and  there, 
as  the  land  rose  or  sunk.     There  was  an  opposite  coast,  too, 


14  URSULA. 

in  that  direction,  and  wc  could  plainly  distinguish  the  houses, 
looking  like  white  dots,  and  the  great  chalk-pits,  like  patches 
on  the  sides  of  the  misty  hills.  I  was  never  tired  of  the 
view ;  yet  it  was  not  so  grand  as  the  open  sea,  and  the  white 
cliffs  from  St.  Anne's ;  and  I  think  it  gave  me  more  thoughts 
of  the  world.  It  made  me  picture  to  myself  men,  and  women, 
and  all  their  cares  and  troubles,  and  hopes  for  things  which 
belong  to  earth ;  but  the  sea  seemed  to  have  come  at  once 
from  God,  and  to  belong  to  Him  alone.  When  human  beings 
passed  over  it,  they  left  no  mark  behind  them.  One  view 
was  like  Time  and  the  other  like  Eternity.  In  former  days 
there  had  been  a  little  chapel  on  St.  Anne's  Hill ;  an  oratory, 
I  believe,  it  was  called.  It  was  connected  with  some  old 
ruins  in  Compton  village,  which  are  now  built  into  barns  and 
granaries,  belonging  to  the  Abbey  Farm.  I  have  been  told 
that  some  one  of  the  monks  who  lived  in  the  abbey,  used,  in 
old  times,  to  be  sent  to  the  chapel  on  St.  Anne's  to  say 
prayers,  and  to  put  lights  in  the  tower  as  a  warning  to  the 
vessels  when  they  came  too  close  to  the  shore.  In  after 
years  a  regular  light-house  w^as  built  there,  but  it  has  fallen 
quite  into  decay.  It  was  not  worth  while  to  keep  it  up,  for 
thick  mists  from  the  sea  often  rest  upon  the  Hill,  and  in  the 
stormy  night  the  gleam  from  the  light-house  could  seldom  be 
seen.  Only  the  stones  scattered  upon  the  green  turf,  and  a 
portion  of  the  lower  walls,  remain  ;  and  a  gooseberry-bush, 
which  grew  in  the  little  garden  belonging  to  the  light-house, 
is  the  sole  mark  that  any  care  had  ever  been  taken  to  make 
such  a  place  habitable.  But  the  eight-sided  tower  of  the 
oratory  stands  as  firm  as  ever, — the  walls  dark  grey,  and 
brown,  and  green,  where  lichens  have  covered  them  ;  whilst 
the  foundation  of  the  chapel  can  also  be  traced  without  diffi- 
culty. I  have  heard  people  wonder,  as  they  talked  about 
the  oratory,  what  could  make  any  person  content  to  live 
there  ;  and  I  have  heard  them  say,  too,  that  there  was  much 
evil  in  the  days  when  it  was  used,  and  that  we  are  more  en- 
lightened. I  dare  say  they  are  right.  I  am  very  thankful  for 
the  blessings  granted  me,  and  I  would  not,  for  all  the  world, 
go  back  to  times  when  I  could  not  read  my  Bible  for  myself ; 
but  I  can  never  think  that  the  watchers  in  the  oratory  kept 
less  guard  upon  their  lights,  because  they  knelt  by  them  and 


URSULA.  15 

said  their  prayers ;  and  I  have  myself  rested  against  the 
wall,  on  the  steep  side  looking  over  to  the  sea,  and  prayed 
with  a  deeper  feeling,  because  I  felt  that  the  spot  was  like 
a  church,  and  liad  been  made  holy  by  the  devotion  of  those 
who  stood  there  before  me. 

But  I  must  not  linger  so  long  describing  Sandcombe  Down, 
and  the  view  from  St.  Anne's,  only  they  are  mixed  up  with 
so  many  things  which  happened  in  my  cliildhood,  that  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  me.  The  evening  that  I  walked  over  to  Dene 
with  Roger,  we  turned  quite  away  from  St.  Anne's  Ilill,  and 
went  to  the  other  end  of  the  long  ridge,  towards  the  north. 
That,  too,  was  a  marked  spot,  for  a  stone  pillar  had  been  placed 
upon  it  to  note  the  visit  of  a  foreign  emperor  to  I-Cngland.  I 
had  sometimes  been  as  far  as  the  pillar  when  I  went  over  the 
ridge  to  Compton,  or  came  back  from  it ;  but  I  was  always  stop- 
ped there  by  Mr.  Weir's  grounds ;  for  just  above  Dene  the  side  of 
the  down  was  very  steep,  and  formed  a  deep  hollow,  which 
]\Ir.  Weir  had  planted  thickly,  making  winding  walks  among 
the  trees,  and  separating  the  j^lantation  from  the  down  by  a 
light  iron  fence. 

A  broad,  smooth,  sloping  path,  cut  along  the  side  of  the 
hill,  in  the  green  turf,  was  the  nearest  way  from  Sandcombe 
Farm  to  Dene.  Furze  and  beautiful  red  foxgloves  grew  there 
in  plenty;  their  look,  and  sometliing  in  their  scent,  will  often 
come  before  me  even  now,  and  make  me  feel  as  if  there  must 
be  something  young  in  me  Avhich  can  never  die.  Perhaps  it 
belongs  to  that  part  of  myself  which  is  to  live  again  in 
Heaven.  This  patli  went  very  gradually  down  the  side  of  the 
hill,  and  then  a  white  gate  gave  admittance  to  the  grounds  of 
Dene,  and  to  a  broad  road  at  the  foot  of  the  plantations,  which 
led  by  the  back  of  the  liouse  to  the  entrance. 

Other  things  have  become  clouded  in  my  memory,  but  I 
can  quite  remember  my  feelings  as  Roger  opened  the  white 
gate,  and  said,  "  Now,  little  one,  we  are  at  home."  I  had  a 
fancy  that  the  whole  place  belonged  to  us,  that  we  were  in 
some  way  raised  in  the  world,  and  yet  I  looked  round  with  a 
grave  wonder,  and  kei)t  close  to  Roger's  side,  fearful  tliat  I 
might  be  trespassing  if  I  went  a  step  to  the  right  or  the  left. 
The  word  trespass  was  a  very  awful  one  to  me.  I  had  seen 
it  set  up  on  boards  in   Mr.  Weir's  plantations,  and    it  was 


16  URSULA. 

mixed  up  in  my  mind  -with  visions  of  a  dismal  dungeon,  and 
bread  and  water. 

lloo-er  went  up  to  the  house-door  and  rang  at  the  bell.  A 
girl  answered  it,  and  then  there  came  out  a  stout  old  lady, 
dressed  in  black  silk,  with  a  very  gay  cap  on  her  head :  as 
grand  as  a  queen  she  seemed  to  me.  She  patted  me  on  the 
shoulder,  and  spoke  civilly  to  Roger.  He  went  aside  with 
her,  and  they  talked  for  some  minutes.  I  thought  at  first 
she  must  be  Mrs.  Weir  herself,  but  as  we  turned  away  to  go 
a  little  farther  down  the  carriage-road,  Roger  told  me  that 
she  was  Mrs.  Mason,  the  housekeeper,  who  had  the  care  of 
everything  in  the  house,  as  he  was  to  have  the  charge  of  every- ' 
thing  out  of  it.  I  found  afterwards  that  Mrs.  Mason  lived 
there,  more  that  she  might  have  a  home,  being  an  old  servant 
of  the  family,  than  for  any  other  reason. 

The  stables  were  very  near  the  house,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  carriage-ro  ad.  They,  and  the  coach-house,  and  a 
kind  of  barn,  in  which  things  could  be  stored  away,  being  all 
built  of  good  stone,  formed  quite  a  grand  set  of  buildings. 
There  was  a  large  clock  over  the  coach-house, — very  much 
needed,  for  Dene  was  a  most  out  of  the  way  place.  Compton 
was  three  miles  off  by  the  road,  though  only  a  mile  and  a  half 
by  the  cart-track  over  the  hill ;  and  that  was  only  a  village.  It 
had  no  shops  nor  anything  of  that  kind.  The  nearest  gentle- 
man's house  must  have  been  four  or  five  miles  distant  from 
Dene ;  whilst  Hove,  which  was  the  only  place  we  could  get 
anything  from,  was  seven  miles  off:  so  there  was  great  need 
of  the  clock  to  keep  x;s  all  regular  and  punctual. 

Next  to  the  coach-house,  joining  it  indeed,  but  nearer  to 
the  house,  a  set  of  rooms  had  been  built,  and  these  we  were 
to  have.  I  cannot  say  they  were  anything  very  grand.  Cer- 
tainly they  were  nothing  like  the  farm-kitchen  at  Sandcombe. 
They  did  not  look  as  if  they  belonged  to  a  regular  house ; 
and  I  cou.ld  not  understand  what  Roger  meant  when  he  open- 
ed the  door,  and  Avent  into  the  little  kitchen,  and  sat  down  in 
an  arm-chair,  looking  round  him  half  sad  and  half  pleased.  I 
asked  him  where  we  were  to  go  next. 

"  No  further,  Ursie  ;  this  is  home.  We'll  be  very  jolly 
here,  little  Trot."  And  then  he  took  me  upon  his  knee,  and 
covered  me  with  kisses.     I  don't  think  he  liked  me  to  see  his 


URSULA.  17 

face.  He  must  have  thought  a  good  deal  of  Sandcoinbe,  and 
my  father  and  mother,  and  old  times,  and  it  was  very  solitary 
for  him.  I  was  no  companion,  though  he  did  love  me  so 
dearly. 

The  next  day  a  girl  was  to  come  to  look  after  me,  but 
there  had  been  some  mistake  about  the  time,  and  she  was  not 
there  to  meet  us.  Because  of  this  we  were  to  go  over  to  the 
house  and  have  our  tea  with  Mrs.  Mason.  So  when  Koger 
had  unpacked  some  of  the  things,  and  I  had  tired  myself 
with  running  up  and  down  the  steep  flight  of  stairs  to  look  at 
the  bedrooms,  we  went  across  to  the  house.  I  should  say  first, 
however,  that  we  had  a  very  comfortable  lodging  upon  the 
whole.  Besides  a  tidy  parlor,  a  kitchen,  and  two  bed-rooms, 
and  a  closet  in  which  another  bed  could  be  put,  there  was  a 
little  room  within  the  kitchen^  where  a  servant  might  sleep 
if  it  were  necessary.  But  the  plan  was  for  the  girl  to  come 
for  the  day  only,  as  she  lived  at  a  cottage  quite  close  ;  so  the 
kitchen  room  was  only  likely  to  be  used  as  a  place  for 
lumber. 

Neither  water  nor  soap  had  been  provided  for  us,  and  wo 
went  across  to  the  house  just  as  we  were  when  we  came  from 
our  walk.  I  did  not  think  of  such  things,  but  Roger  did. 
He  was  wonderfully  neat  in  his  ways  for  a  man  who  had  so 
much  rough  work  to  attend  to.  He  resembled  my  mother, 
who  was  famed  for  tidiness  and  cleanliness.  I  dare  say,  too, 
he  knew  what  Mrs.  Mason  would  like,  for  we  were  no  sooner 
inside  the  house,  than  she  took  me  up-stairs  to  her  bed-room, 
a  very  comfortable  one,  near  the  kitchen,  and  made  me  put 
myself  to  rights,  and  wash  my  hands  and  face  before  we  went 
down  to  tea. 

We  had  our  tea  in  the  kitchen.  Mrs.  Mason  had  a  little 
sitting-room  to  herself,  but  it  was  very  small,  and  so,  indeed,  was 
the  house,  though  it  appeared  grand  enough  to  me  just  at  first. 
Mr.  Weir  only  used  it  for  a  few  months  in  the  autumn,  when 
he  came  for  shooting,  and  there  were  not  many  contrivances 
for  comfort  in  it,  and  very  little  space  for  servants.  But  I 
knew  nothing  about  such  matters  that  first  night,  and  only 
felt  it  to  be  very  strange  and  pleasant  to  be  sitting  by  Roger's 
side,  eating  lard  cake,  drinking  tea  out  of  pretty  brown  cups 
with  gilt  edges,  and  able  to  watcli  Mrs.  Mason,  as  she  sat  be- 


18  URSULA.  ^ 

fore  the  tea-board,  in  lier  black  silk  dress,  looking  grander  than 
ever. 

Roger  and  Mrs.  Mason  talked  about  a  great  many  things 
which  I  did  not  understand,  and  their  tea  lasted  much  longer 
than  mine  ;  but  when  I  was  tired  of  sitting  up  and  listening, 
they  let  me  get  down  by  the  hearth,  and  play  with  a  tabby 
kitten,  and  Mrs.  Mason  made  the  girl  bring  a  cork  and  a 
string,  and  tempt  the  kitten  to  run  after  it.  I  did  not  remark 
anything  that  went  on,  till  I  heard  Roger  say,  "  I  never  knew 
that  both  the  ladies  were  coming."  That  made  me  attend. 
I  don't  know  why.  I  could  not  think  who  the  ladies  were, 
and  I  was  always  rather  curious.  Mrs.  Mason  looked  grave 
and  odd,  and  answered,  "  Yes,  both  of  them.  Miss  Milicent 
used  to  say  she  didn't  like  the  place,  but  she  has  turned 
quite  round  now.  She's  a  queer  one.  You  may  thank  your 
stars,  Mr.  Grant,  that  you  are  not  likely  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  her." 

I  think  Roger  must  have  noticed  my  eyes  fixed  upon  him, 
for  he  stopped  suddenly  as  he  was  about  to  reply,  and  said, 
"  It  is  nearly  the  little  woman's  bed-time." 

"Ah!  3'es,  to  be  sure;"  and  Mrs.  Mason  called  me  to 
her  and  asked  if  I  was  sleepy. 

"  No,"  I  said  quickly :  "  Why  does  that  Miss  come 
here  ? "  A  fit  of  laughter  followed,  and  something  was 
muttered  about  "  little  pitchers  and  long  ears ;  "  but  I  was 
not  to  be  daunted,  and  I  asked  again,  "  Why  does  that  Miss 
come  here  ?  " 

"  Because  it's  her  home,"  said  Roger  very  gi-avely  ;  "  but 
little  children  must  never  trouble  themselves  with  what 
doesn't  concern  them  :"  and  I  asked  no  more,  for  his  look 
showed  me  he  was  not  pleased.  He  said  I  must  go  over  to 
the  cottage  to  sleep ;  but  Mrs.  Mason  interfered.  No  one 
was  there  to  put  me  to  bed,  she  said,  and  nothing  was  ready 
for  me ;  she  could  not  be  sure  even  that  there  were  sheets 
in  the  bed ;  for  Fanny  (that  was  the  name  of  the  girl  who 
opened  the  door  for  us)  had  been  so  busy,  there  had  not 
been  time  for  her  to  go  across  and  see  about  it.  It  would  be 
much  better  for  me  to  sleep  at  the  house ;  there  was  plenty 
of  spare  room. 

Roger  objected  because  of  the  trouble,  but  he  was  soon 


URSULA.  19 

overruled.  Mrs.  IMason  liked  children,  and  was  very  good- 
natured  ;  so  she  called  Fanny,  and  told  her  to  take  me  up  to 
the  little  back-room  and  put  me  to  bed. 

"  Miss  Milicent's  room,  Ma'am,  did  you  say  ?  "  asked 
Fanny,  who  was  rather  deaf. 

"  Miss  Milicent's  room,  child  !  What  are  you  thinking 
of  ?  The  little  back-room — the  peacock  room.  You  know 
what  I  mean  Miss  Milicent's  room  indeed !  "  I  heard  her 
murmur  to  herself ;  "  there  would  be  a  fuss  !  " 

Fanny  carried  me  off  to  bed.  I  whispered  to  Roger,  as 
I  said  good  night,  "  Please  come  and  see  me  after  I'm  in 
bed."  He  was  going  to  say  no ;  I  suppose  he  thought  he 
had  no  business  to  go  about  the  house  as  if  it  was  his  own ; 
but  Mrs.  Mason  promised  me  he  should,  and  I  went  away 
happy.  Roger's  last  charge  being  that  I  should  remember  to 
say  my  prayers  properly ;  and  then  he  would  hear  me  repeat 
my  verse  before  I  went  to  sleep. 

Fanny  took  me  through  a  short  passage  into  a  little  hall, 
then  up  some  narrow  winding  stairs  to  a  lobby,  with  several 
rooms  opening  into  it.  The  first  on  the  right  hand  side  was 
the  peacock  room. 

It  never  entered  my  head  to  ask  why  it  was  so  called ; 
but,  full  of  my  curiosity,  I  chattered  away  to  Fanny  about 
Miss  Milicent  all  the  time  I  was  undressing. 

I  learnt  that  she  was  Mr.  Weir's  daughter,  which 
sounded  strange  to  me,  for  I  thought  that  Milicent  was  a 
surname ;  but  I  found  afterwards  that  she  was  called  Miss 
Milicent  because  there  was  a  cousin  who  had  more  right  to 
be  Miss  Weir. 

I  was  informed  also  that  she  had  a  mother  but  no  broth- 
ers or  sisters.  Miss  Weir,  the  cousin,  Fanny  said,  sometimes 
came  to  Dene,  but  not  often.  This  cousin  I  cared  very  little 
about,  especially  when  I  heard  that  she  was  not  expected 
now,  and  might  never  come  again,  as  she  was  engaged  to  be 
married  to  a  Mr.  Temple  ;  but  I  made  Fanny  tell  me  what 
kind  of  person  Miss  Milicent  was,  and  when  she  said 
"  grumpy,"  I  was  nearly  as  much  in  the  dark  as  before.  I 
only  guessed  it  was  something  disagreeable ;  and  I  mixed 
up  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weir,  and  their  daughter  together,  and 
fancied  them  all  like  the  ogres  I  had  read  of  in  fairy  tales. 


20  URSULA. 

1  should  have  been  fri-glitened  and  unhappy,  only  I  was  sure 
that  Roger  was  a  match  for  them  alh 

Ho  came  to  me  as  he  had  promised,  and  I  repeated  my 
verse  to  him,  and  then  he  kissed  me  and  said,  "  Grod  bless 
you,  my  little  Ursie,"  and  left  me.  I  listened  to  his  heavy 
tread  as  he  went  down  the  stairs :  and  when  all  was  silent  I 
turned  and  tossed  in  the  large  bed,  not  daring  to  open  my 
eyes  lest  I  should  see  the  darkness,  and  wishing  very  much 
that  I  had  been  allowed  to  sleep  in  the  little  room  at  the 
cottage  close  to  Roger.     But  I  fell  asleep  at  last. 

A  strange  noise  woke  me  very  early  in  the  morning ;  a 
harsh,  scrooping  sound,  which  amused,  and  yet  a  little 
frightened  me,  and  made  me  sit  up  in  my  bed  to  listen. 
When  I  could  not  understand  where  it  came  from,  I  jumped 
up  and  ran  to  the  window  to  look  out.  A  light  fence  of 
trellis- work  was  just  below, — a  screen  for  a  little  area  in 
front  of  the  pantry, — and  on  this  trellis-work  roosted  a 
peacock  and  peahen.  My  delight !  how  can  I  possibly 
express  it !  There  they  sat,  the  peacock  proudly  turning 
his  beautiful  purple  neck  on  all  sides,  and  his  long  tail, 
spotted  with  glittering  eyes,  drooping  over  the  fence ;  and 
the  peahen  looking  so  quiet  and  gentle,  and  beautiful  too, 
only  seeming  not  to  wish  to  be  noticed  because  she  had  such 
a  grand  companion.  I  believe  I  screamed  with  delight,  I 
was  told  so  afterwards ;  and  Fanny  always  declared  that  I 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  open  the  window,  and  pull  only  one 
feather  out  of  the  peacocks  tail,  for  he  had  so  many  I  was 
sure  he  would  never  miss  it.  I  know  myself  that  the  pea- 
cock and  peahen  seemed  like  the  fairies  of  the  place  to  me 
then  and  for  years  afterwards ;  and  even  now,  if  I  could 
have  money  to  throw  away  upon  fancies,  I  should  be  tempted 
to  have  some  always  with  me,  in  the  hope  that  they  might 
bring  back  the  feelings  of  unbounded  gladness  which  are,  by 
this  time,  almost  forgotten. 

It  was  a  sunshiny  morning  the  first  day  at  Dene.  Roger 
went  out  directly  after  breakfast  to  his  business  of  looking 
after  things,  and  1  was  left  with  Mrs.  Mason  and  Fanny. 
For  that  one  day  I  was  to  run  about  and  do  as  I  chose ;  but 
Mrs.  Mason  put  on  a  grave  face  as  she  said  that  idleness 
was  not  good  for  little  girls ;  and  it  was  settled  tliat  Roger 


URSULA.  21 

was  to  take  me  over  to  Compton  the  very  first  day  he  could 
spare  the  time,  in  order  that  I  might  have  my  name  put 
dx»wn  for  the  schooh 

Mrs.  Mason  made  me  help  Fanny  wash  up  the  tea-things 
when  breakfast  was  over;  and  then  she  said  we  might  go 
round  the  garden,  only  Fanny  was  to  take  particular  care 
that  I  did  not  tumble  into  the  pond.  So  Fanny  and  I  went 
forth  together,  first,  however,  running  all  over  the  house,  and 
peeping  into  every  nook  and  corner,  even  into  Miss  Milicent's 
room,  which  was  nothing  remarkably  different  from  any 
other,  except  that  it  was  the  largest  and  had  the  prettiest 
view.  Fanny  said  that  Miss  Milicent  always  had  the  large 
room  because  of  her  boxes. 

The  house  at  Dene  had  been  first  a  labourer's  cottage  ; 
that  was  before  Mr.  Weir  took  a  fancy  to  come  there  for 
shooting.  He  built  two  rooms,  a  dining-room  and  a  drawing- 
room,  not  at  all  large,  and  rather  square,  only  with  a  kind  of 
bow  for  the  window.  These  rooms  were  on  each  side  of  the 
little  passage  or  hall,  and  there  were  no  more  sitting-rooms 
in  the  house,  at  least  when  first  we  went  there.  Miss  Mili- 
cent's room  was  over  the  drawing-room,  and  Mr.  Weir's  over 
the  dining-room ;  and  there  was  another  room,  which  was 
used  as  a  dressing-room,  besides  the  peacock  room  and  some 
attics  :  that  was  all  the  house  then,  except  the  chambers  over 
the  kitchen,  where  Mrs.  Mason  and  Fanny  slept.  The  attics 
were  what  I  liked  best ;  we  had  to  go  up  such  a  droll  little 
staircase  to  reach  them,  and  they  had  such  a  beautiful  paper, 
a  kind  of  Chinese  j)attern,  with  a  bridge  and  some  houses,  and 
little  men  and  women  going  over  the  bridge.  They,  too, 
like  the  peacock,  were  part  of  the  fairy  things  belonging  to 
Dene,  and  I  seemed  to  have  more  to  do  with  them  than  with 
Mr,  Weir  and  Miss  Milicent.  The  attics  opened  upon  the 
leads  of  the  house,  and  the  peacock  had  been  up  there  and 
left  behind  him  one  of  his  small  feathers, — not  one  with  an 
eye,  but  with  a  soft  feathery  fringe, — such  a  purple  green  ! 
there  is  no  colour  like  it  elsewhere  that  I  liave  seen.  Fanny 
crept  out  of  the  window  and  brought  it  back  to  me,  and  I 
have  it  now.  Unless  it  was  a  duty,  I  would  not  part  with  it 
for  any  sum  of  money. 

Going  over  the  house  was  very  pleasant,  but  it  was  uoth- 


22  U  11  S  U  L  A  . 

ing  to  tlie  garden ;  £ind  when  Fanny  opened  the  front  door, 
I  rushed  out  wild  with  dcliglit,  and  scarcely  heeding  her  as 
.she  called  to  me,  in  a  frightened  voice,  not  on  any  account  to 
run  so  fast,  or  I  should  be  in  the  pond. 

Dene  stood  very  high.  The  ground  sloped  directly  from 
the  house,  but  there  was  a  broad  pavement  in  front,  covered 
by  an  open  verandah,  which  had  been  made  by  a  very  old 
man,  a  country  carpenter,  and  was  esteemed  quite  a  wonder, 
for  its  pretty  patterns  and  crossings.  The  house  would  have 
been  homely-looking  on  the  outside,  except  for  the  verandah ; 
but  that  gave  it  a  look  unlike  other  places,  and  the  arches 
made  a  separate  frame  for  each  portion  of  the  country  that 
was  to  be  seen  from  it. 

The  view  from  the  house,  like  that  from  the  down,  might, 
I  suppose,  have  been  called  wanting  in  wood  ;  but  Paradise 
could  scarcely  have  been  more  lovely  to  Eve,  when  she  first 
opened  her  eyes  upon  it,  than  Dene  was  to  me  on  that  sum- 
mer morning,  and  many,  many  others  which  followed.  It 
looked  to  the  east,  and  the  sun,  therefore,  shone  full  upon  it. 
The  turf  was  smooth  as  a  carpet  of  velvet,  and  not  a  weed 
was  to  be  seen  in  the  bright  flower-beds.  In  the  centre  of 
the  lawn,  a  fountain,  which  the  gardener  set  playing  to  please 
me,  rose  up  like  a  silver  thread  into  the  air,  and  in  the  pond 
round  the  fountain,  bright  gold-fish  floated  about,  catching  at 
the  bread-crumbs  with  which  I  was  allowed  to  feed  them. 
Another  pond,  with  an  island  in  the  centre,  and  a  walk  round 
it,  was  to  be  seen  still  lower,  but  it  was  always  a  place  of 
mystery  to  me.  I  never  reached  the  island,  though  I  always 
longed  to  do  so.  Beyond  the  garden  lay  an  expanse  of 
country,  such  as  could  be  seen  from  the  down.  It  had  one 
or  two  market  spots,  an  old  manor  farm,  surrounded  by  trees 
nearly  opposite  to  Dene,  and  a  church  on  a  bit  of  rising 
ground,  and  a  zigzag  road  across  a  moor, — part  of  the  high 
road  to  Hove ;  and  immediately  opposite  was  a  ridge  of  hills, 
very  like  Sandcombe  Down,  with  what  was  called  a  semaphore 
at  the  top.  I  believe  it  was  used  for  making  signals  about 
ships  to  persons  a  good  way  off.  It  was  a  view  in  which 
there  seemed  always  something  new  to  find  out;  and  espe- 
cially I  used  to  please  myself  on  Saturdays,  when  Roger  was 
gone  to  Hove,  by  watching  the  carts  and  waggons,  and  horses 


URSULA.  23 

moving  like  dots  over  llie  zigzag  road,  and  guessing  -wliicli 
might  belong  to  him.  But  that  is  going  on  beyond  my  first 
morning. 

Fanny  led  me  all  round  the  garden,  and  then,  as  we  came 
back,  she  stopped  at  the  foot  of  a  steep  bank  covered  with 
shrubs,  which  parted  the  grounds  of  Dene  from  the  down, 
and  pointing  to  a  flight  of  rough  steps,  said,  I  might  go  up 
there  if  I  liked.  I  ran  before  her,  scarcely  contented  to 
make  use  of  the  steps,  but  every  now  and  then  scrambling  up 
the  bank,  till  I  reached  the  top ;  and  there  I  found  a  seat, 
and  a  little  wicket  gate,  opening  upon  the  carriage  road  close 
to  the  down.  Crossing  the  road,  Fanny  made  me  enter  the 
plantation,  which,  as  I  before  said,  filled  the  hollow  of  the 
hill  behind  the  house.  We  went  on  and  on,  along  narrow 
winding  paths,  sometimes  stopping  to  rest  upon  a  bench  under 
a  tree,  sometimes  going  quite  to  the  edge  of  the  bank,  to  look 
down  through  the  mass  of  branches,  and  leaves,  and  flowers, 
which  seemed  to  sparkle  like  emerald  and  silver,  upon  a 
green  field  just  at  the  bottom  of  the  plantation,  in  which  Mr. 
Weir's  cows  were  feeding ;  and  then  we  ran  on  again  till  we 
came  to  a  little  summer-house  ;  a  real  house,  with  a  table, 
and  some  wooden  chairs,  and  a  tiny  fire-place ;  so  cool  and 
pleasant-looking  it  was  ! — but  we  could  not  go  in,  for  Mrs. 
Mason  kept  the  key,  but  Fanny  lifted  me  up  that  I  might 
peep  in  at  the  window. 

It  was  all  more  happy  to  me  far  than  words  can  tell,  but 
I  can  never  by  description  make  other  people  feel  the  same. 
Fanny,  though  she  was  not  much  more  than  a  child,  seemed 
to  care  little  about  it.  All  that  she  appeared  to  think  of 
then,  or  afterwards,  was  the  gossip  about  the  few  people  who 
lived  in  the  neighborhood.  We  passed  out  of  the  plantation 
by  clambering  over  an  iron  fence,  and  came  round  to  the 
house  in  a  diti'erent  direction,  across  an  open  bit  of  pasture 
land,  which  seemed  once  to  have  foi-med  part  of  the  down. 
There  it  was  that  Fanny  was  induced  to  stop,  that  she  might 
point  out  the  cottage  in  which  Sarah's  father  and  mother 
lived.  Sarah  was  the  girl  who  was  to  take  care  of  me  and 
cook  our  dinner,  and  make  our  beds.  They  were  labouring 
people,  she  said,  and  they  were  very  glad  to  get  Sarah  a 
place.     Sarah  was  to  have  gone  to  the  gamekeeper's,  but  Lis 


24  URSULA.' 

wife  had  a  cousin  wlio  was  come  to  help.  And  then  she  led 
me  a  few  steps  on,  that  I  might  look  at  the  gamekeeper's  nice 
cottage  with  its  strip  of  garden  so  neatly  kept.  The  game- 
keeper's wife,  she  said,  had  had  some  tiffs  with  Miss  Milicent, 
but  that  was  no  wonder.  Fanny  did  not  think  proper,  how- 
ever, to  tell  me  what  the  tiffs  were  about,  but  wandered  off 
to  another  subject,  saying,  that  she  must  take  me  home,  for 
she  had  to  run  down  to  Longside  Farm  to  get  some  eggs  for 
Mrs.  Mason.  The  people  at  Longside  were  very  well  to  do 
in  the  world,  she  informed  me ;  Farmer  Kemp,  folks  de- 
clared, was  worth  a  mint  of  money  ;  and  he  was  very  careful, 
not  at  all  like  the  Shaws,  who  lived  at  the  Manor  Farm, 
called  White  Hill,  which  we  had  seen  from  the  garden.  The 
Shaws  were  very  set-up  people,  and  laughed  at  the  Kemps, 
and  the  Kemps  had  given  up  visiting  them. 

A  good  deal  of  this  1  knew  before,  and  very  little  I  cared 
for  it.  Yet  I  cannot  help  noting  it  now.  It  was  the  begin- 
ning of  a  long  tale,  and  I  think  of  it  as  I  think  of  the  little 
stream  that  welled  forth  from  the  plantation  behind  the 
house,  and  after  being  caught  in  a  stone  basin,  where  it 
sparkled  clear  and  bright,  made  its  way,  stealing  by  fields, 
and  through  ditches,  till  it  became  a  broad  river,  with  which 
mud  and  shingle  and  all  impurity  had  mingled.  Nothing 
but  the  sea  could  cleanse  that  stream,  and  nothing  but  the 
ocean  of  God's  Redeeming  Love  can  cleanse  the  foulnesses 
that  even  the  best  must  contract  as  their  life  flows  forth  to 
Eternity. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

It  would  be  useless  to  attempt  a  description  of  all  that  hap- 
pened when  we  first  went  to  live  at  Dene,  and  I  have  put 
into  the  account  of  that  morning's  walk  over  the  grounds 
nearly  all  there  is  to  say  about  the  place,  and  added  some 
things  which  fitly  ought  to  have  come  in  further  on.  But  I 
write  just  as  the  thoughts  enter  my  head,  and  should  not  be 


URSULA.  25 

able  to  get  on  fit  all,  wberc  there  is  so  much  to  say,  if  I  were 
to  take  too  much  time  to  consider. 

We  settled  ourselves  into  our  little  house — Roger  and  I — 
and  Sarah  came  as  it  had  been  agreed,  and  two  days  after- 
wards Roger  took  me  over  to  Compton  to  the  clergyman 
there,  and  arranged  that  I  was  to  go  to  the  village  school. 
Sarah  had  a  sister,  about  twelve  years  old,  who  went,  and 
she  was  to  take  care  of  me.  I  know  some  people  thought  it 
strange  that  I  should  be  sent  to  mix  with  everybody's  chil- 
dren, and  declared  that  my  father  and  mother  would  never 
have  allowed  it  if  they  had  been  living.  But  William  and 
Roger  both  knew  what  my  parents  would  have  wished  better 
than  the  world  did,  and  Roger  has  often  told  me  that  the 
things  he  heard  about  the  schools  in  Hove  made  him  very 
unwilling  to  place  me  at  one.  He  wanted  me,  he  said,  to 
grow  up  useful,  and  to  know  my  place  in  the  world,  and 
from  what  he  could  see  of  the  girls  who  had  gone  to  those 
boarding-schools,  it  was  just  what  they  had  never  been 
taught.  They  were  always  trying  to  get  out  of  their  place. 
It  took  a  good  many  years,  and  a  good  deal  of  experience 
too,  to  enable  me  to  understand  entirely  all  that  Roger 
meant  by  that.  As  for  my  own  wish,  I  was  so  glad  to 
escape  being  sent  away  from  Roger,  that  I  would  have  borne 
real  sufiering  rather  than  be  sent  to  a  boarding-school  in 
Hove.  And  I  was  quite  happy  at  Compton,  every  one  was 
very  kind  to  me.  The  clei-gyman  came  to  see  us  and 
instruct  us  himself,  and  I  was  taught  to  read,  and  write,  and 
cypher,  and  do  needlework,  in  a  way  which  lias  been  an  ad- 
vantage to  me  all  my  life,  and — much  more  than  that — I  was 
made  to  look  upon  religion  as  the  one  thing  to  be  considered 
above  all  others.  That  is  the  best  lesson  any  one  can 
acquire ;  all  others  are  easy  afterwards ;  and  I  thank  God 
that  He  placed  me  so  early  under  the  care  of  those  who  had 
learned  it  themselves,  and  so  were  well  able  to  teach  it  to  me. 

I  had  some  weeks  at  school,  and  then  came  harvest  time 
and  holidays,  when  Mrs.  Mason  gave  me  employment  at 
home,  and  when  I  was  allowed  to  enjoy  myself  by  taking  a 
book  up  to  the  seat  on  the  top  of  the  bank,  and  sitting  there 
all  alone  by  myself,  reading  or  listening  to  the  chirp  of  the 
grasshoppers,  and  the  songs  of  the  birds  in  the  plantation.    I 

Vol.  T— 2 


26  URSULA  . 

liked  that  seat  better  than  any  other,  partly,  I  believe,  be- 
cause no  one  else  seemed  ever  to  think  about  it ;  but  there 
was  a  pleasure  too  in  being  close  to  the  down,  feeling  that  I 
might,  if  I  chose  (though  I  never  really  wished  to  do  so), 
wander  all  over  it,  and  even  go  across  St.  Anne's  hill,  to 
the  great  cliffs  above  the  sea-shore,  and  there  find  a  vessel  to 
carry  me  all  over  the  world.  I  had  many  fancies  of  that 
khid  from  the  books  I  read.  Heading  was  quite  my  snare  ; 
I  did  so  delight  in  it,  and  so  I  do  to  this  day.  When  Mrs. 
Mason  gave  me  work  to  do,  I  used  to  carry  it  to  the  upper 
seat,  fully  meaning  to  do  it,  but  if  I  had  a  book  at  my  side, 
I  spent  more  minutes  than  I  ought  in  looking  into  it  between 
whiles.  Some  books  I  had  from  the  school-library  at  Comp- 
ton,  and  Mrs.  Mason  let  me  have  some  old  magazines,  which 
I  was  never  tired  of,  though  I  knew  most  of  the  stories 
nearly  by  heart. 

September  came,  and  I  went  to  school  again;  and  just 
about  that  time  there  was  a  bustle  at  Dene ;  putting  the 
garden  in  order,  and  cleaning  out  the  rooms,  and  arranging 
the  furniture,  because  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weir,  and  Miss  Miliceut, 
were  expected  for  two  months. 

A  grand  time  it  seemed  to  be  for  Mrs.  Mason  and  Fanny. 
As  for  me,  I  cried  terribly,  because  I  thought  the  family 
would  take  possession  of  the  garden,  and  the  plantation,  and 
all  the  places  I  liked,  and  that  I  should  never  be  able  to  go 
near  them.  I  complained  to  Roger,  but  he  would  not 
encourage  me  in  such  nonsense.  He  said  that  if  I  was  a 
good  child,  I  should  never  want  pleasures,  and  if  I  was  a 
naughty  one,  I  should  not  deserve  them. 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon,  so  I  had  not  been  to  school ; 
but  I  sat  in  the  kitchen  mending  my  clean  things,  which  had 
just  come  from  the  wash,  and  Sarah  was  busy  sweeping  up, 
and  putting  things  in  order  for  Sunday.  We  heard  a  cai*- 
riage  come  up  the  road,  and  I  jumped  up  and  said,  "  Here's 
Mrs.  Weir,"  and  Sarah  ran  to  the  door,  and  stood  there 
with  the  broom  in  her  hand.  We  had  not  heard  for  certain 
that  they  would  come  on  that  day.  There  was  a  chance 
that  they  might  have  stopped  till  Monday; — but  we  were 
sure  it  could  be  no  one  else,  because,  although  there  was  a 
right  of  footway  through  the  grounds,  no  carriages  had  any 


URSULA.  27 

business  along  our  road,  and  nothing  with  wheels  ever  came 
by  it,  unless  it  might  be  every  now  and  then  Mr.  "Weir's 
light  cart,  going  over  the  hill  to  Compton  or  Hatton. 

The  carriage  stopped.  It  was  closed,  so  that  we  could 
not  see  who  was  within.  Mrs.  Mason  and  Fanny  came  out 
in  a  great  hurry,  and  made  many  curtsies ;  and  then  the 
footman  (there  was  a  grand  footman,  dressed  in  a  drab- 
coloured  coat,  with  red  trimming,  and  a  coachman  like  him, 
only  stouter)  opened  the  door,  and  an  elderly  gentleman  got 
out,  and  walked  straight  into  the  house,  with  his  chin  up  in 
the  air,  not  stopping  to  speak  to  any  one.  I  noticed  nothing 
about  him  but  his  nose — and  somehow,  whenever  I  looked  at 
him  afterwards,  that  was  the  only  feature  which  ever  caught 
my  eye.  It  seemed  to  have  a  way  of  speaking,  as  most 
people's  eyes  speak.  A  lady  followed ;  very  upright  and 
well-formed  she  was,  but  so  small — she  might  have  been 
taken  for  a  child,  when  one  only  looked  at  her  back.  She 
had  a  sweet  face,  though  it  was  very  sallow  and  sickly ;  and 
her  bonnet  was  made  in  an  old-fashioned  way,  to  come  over 
her  forehead  and  protect  her  eyes,  which  seemed  very  weak. 
Mrs.  Mason  helped  her  out  of  the  carriage  herself,  putting 
an  arm  round  her  for  support,  and  then  the  lady  shook  her 
so  heartily  by  the  hand,  it  was  quite  pleasant  to  see ;  and 
she  patted  Fanny  gently  on  the  shoulder,  and  I  think  asked 
some  questions  about  Roger,  as  I  saw  her  turn  round  and 
look  towards  the  cottage.  Mrs.  Mason  must  have  said 
something  to  please  her,  for  she  nodded  her  head  slowlj", 
several  times,  as  if  she  was  quite  satisfied.  She  seemed 
willing  to  stay  and  talk  more,  but  Mrs.  Mason  prevented 
her,  and  went  with  her  into  the  house,  just  as  I  saw  a  large 
foot,  with  a  boot  like  a  man's,  protrude  from  the  carriage. 
The  footman  stood  back,  and  so  did  Fanny  and  the  coach- 
man ;  it  seemed  as  if  they  could  not  make  room  enough  for 
what  was  coming.  Yet  it  was  not  such  a  very  large  body ; 
when  Miss  Miliccnt  stood  upon  the  ground,  she  was  scarcely 
more  than  five  feet  six,  and  stout  in  proportion ;  but  the  very 
way  in  which  she  put  her  head  into  the  cai'riage,  and  out 
again,  and  called  the  footman,  and  tossed  a  parcel  to  Fanny, 
and  gave  an  order  to  the  coachman,  all,  as  it  were,  in  one 
breath,  made  one  feel  at  once  as  though  the  world  was  not 


28  URSULA. 

big  enough  for  her.  It  was  some  seconds  before  I  quite  de- 
termined what  she  was  like.  She  must  have  had  a  great 
fancy  to  be  a  man,  for  certainly  she  had  taken  pains  enough 
to  make  herself  look  as  like  one  as  a  woman's  dress  will 
allow.  She  had  on  a  stuff  gown,  made  very  short,  and  a 
loose  black  jacket,  with  no  white  collar,  nor  anything  of  that 
kind  to  make  it  pretty  ;  only  a  red  handkerchief  tied  round 
her  neck.  Besides,  she  wore  a  black  straw  bonnet,  with  a 
plain  white  border  in  the  inside,  and  not  a  bit  of  ribbon  or 
flower.  Her  face  was  like  Mr.  Weir's,  only  smaller,  and 
without  quite  such  a  nose ;  but  she  had  eyes  to  make  up  for 
it,  so  sharp,  they  were  in  constant  motion,  and  they  danced 
about  as  though  they  had  a  life  of  their  own,  quite  independ- 
ent of  Miss  Milicent  herself,  and  were  determined  to  see 
everything  there  was  to  be  seen  in  this  world. 

I  thought  the  trunks  would  never  come  to  an  end.  The 
coachman  wanted  to  carry  some  of  them  into  the  house,  but 
Miss  Milicent  would  have  them  all  taken  from  the  carriage 
first.  She  kept  every  one  waiting  upon  her,  and  I  could  not 
help  fancying  she  took  a  pleasure  in  occupying  just  double 
the  time  needed.  But  the  business  was  finished  at  last,  and 
Miss  Milicent  was  able  then  to  stop  and  speak  to  Fanny, 
which  she  did  in  the  same  sort  of  way  as  I  have  seen  a  law- 
yer question  a  witness  in  a  court  of  justice.  Fanny  curtsied 
at  every  answer,  but  she  would  fain  have  run  away,  I  am 
sure,  and  she  did  after  a  while  move  to  one  side,  as  a  kind 
of  hint  to  Miss  Milicent  to  go  in-doors.  But  instead  of  that, 
what  should  we  see  but  Miss  Milicent  coming  across  the  road 
to  the  cottage !  Sarah  threw  down  the  broom,  and  ran  oif 
to  hide  herself  in  one  of  the  out-houses ;  I  thought  it  mean 
to  follow  her,  and  I  did  not  see  what  cause  I  had  to  be  afraid 
of  Miss  Milicent,  or  of  any  one,  if  I  was  not  doing  anything 
wrong;  so  I  went  back  to  my  seat  to  finish  darning  my 
stocking,  but  I  own  my  heart  beat  rather  fast. 

In  she  came,  without  knocking  at  the  door,  and  I  felt 
quite  affronted,  and  just  for  a  moment  could  not  make  up  my 
mind  to  rise  from  my  seat.  She  caught  me  up  for  it  direct- 
ly. "  Little  girls  ought  to  learn  to  be  civil,"  she  said,  "  when 
ladies  take  the  trouble  to  come  and  see  them !  What  are 
you  about  there  ?     Mending  your  stockings  ?     Very  good 


URSULA.  29 

work,  but  you  don't  do  it  properly.  You  should  draw  the 
stitches  together  first."  To  my  dismay,  she  took  a  pair  of 
scissors,  cut  a  little  hole  deliberately  iu  my  Suuday  stocking, 
and  then,  catching  the  needle  from  my  hand,  unthreading  it 
iu  her  haste,  sat  down  to  show  me  how  to  bring  the  edges 
together  again.  I  was  so  angry,  I  could  have  pricked  her 
fingers  with  my  needle  when  I  gave  it  back  to  her  threaded. 
I  am  nearly  sure  I  gave  it  a  little  poke  with  that  intention, 
but  she  did  not  seem  to  feel  it,  and,  taking  up  the  stocking, 
made  me  come  quite  close  to  watch  her,  whilst  she  went  on 
talking  all  the  time.  "  Who  taught  you  to  work  ?  You 
ought  to  know  better.  IIow  old  are  you?  Nine  and  a 
half  ? — you  don't  look  more  than  six.  You  can't  have  had 
any  pains  taken  with  you.  Now  attend,  do  you  see  ?  first 
one  stitch,  then  the  other, — drawn  together  closely;  that 
makes  the  hole  smaller.  You  must  darn  it  over  afterwards. 
I  shall  make  them  teach  darning  in  that  way  at  Compton 
school.  Don't  forget !  I  shall  come  and  see  you  again,  and 
find  out  if  you  have  attended  to  what  I  say.  If  you  are  a 
good  child,  I  shall  give  you  some  of  my  stockings  to  mend. 
Now  get  up  and  open  the  door ;  you  always  ought  to  open 
the  door  for  ladies.  They  don't  teach  you  at  all  good  man- 
ners at  Compton  school;  I  shall  see  about  it." 

See  about  it ! — yes.  I  felt,  indeed,  that  she  would  see 
about  it,  and  so  should  I.  I  opened  the  door  for  her  be- 
cause she  stood  waiting  for  me  to  do  it,  but  I  closed  it  be- 
hind her  instantly,  and  rushing  back  to  my  stocking,  tore 
out  all  the  stitches  she  had  put  in,  and  tossed  the  stocking 
across  the  room. 

Sarah  came  back  and  saw  me  kicking  my  feet  against  a 
chair  to  vent  my  rage.  She  laughed,  which  made  me  still 
more  angry.  I  began  to  scold  because  she  had  gone  away 
and  left  me.  "  The  tiresome  woman  Avouldn't  have  dared 
cut  a  hole  in  my  stocking,"  I  said,  "  if  you  had  been  here;  " 
and  I  ran  to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  caught  up  the  stock- 
ing, and  thrust  my  finger  through  the  hole,  making  it  lialf  as 
large  again,  and  when  Sarah  still  would  do  nothing  but  laugh, 
I  leaned  my  head  upon  the  table,  and  fairly  cried  with  tern 
per  and  vexation. 

lloger  entered  just  at  that  moment.  When  he  saw  mc 
iu  tears,  he  came  u])  to  mc  in  his  kind  way  and  took  me  upon 


30  URSULA, 

his  knee ;  but  he  could  get  nothing  from  me  except  that 
Miss  Milicent  had  been  to  see  me,  and  cut  a  hole  in  my 
stocking,  and  I  hated  her,  and  if  she  lived  at  Dene  I  should 
run  away. 

He  must  have  been  very  much  puzzled,  but  he  knew 
pretty  well  what  I  was  like  when  I  was  in  what  William 
used  to  call  one  of  my  tantrums ;  so  instead  of  trying  to 
talk  to  me,  he  just  said,  "  My  little  Trot  will  be  better  up- 
stairs for  a  while;  "  and  then  he  took  me  up  in  his  arms  and 
carried  me  to  my  room,  and  shut  the  door  and  left  me. 

I  was  not  sulky, — that  was  never  part  of  my  disposition, 
— only  terribly  passionate.  I  stamped  and  screamed  a  good 
deal  at  first,  but  no  one  came  near  me,  and  at  last  I  went  to 
the  window,  and  had  my  thoughts  turned  by  watching  the 
servants  finishing  the  unpacking  of  the  carriage,  and  by  the 
time  Roger  came  back  I  was  quite  quiet,  and  sorry  for  hav- 
ing been  so  naughty,  and  he  took  me  down-stairs  again. 

We  sat  down  to  tea,  and  after  a  little  while  Roger  began 
asking  me  again  about  IMiss  Milicent.  I  was  not  angry  with 
him  as  I  was  with  Sarah  when  he  laughed  as  I  told  my 
grievance.  Roger  often  laughed  at  things  which  other  peo- 
ple cry  about,  but  I  told  him  he  wouldn't  have  liked  it  if  it 
had  been  his  stocking,  and  he  had  had  to  darn  it. 

"  I  should  not  have  liked  it,  Ursie,  may  be,  but  I  would 
have  taken  it  as  it  was  meant." 

"  It  was  meant  to  tease  me,"  I  said,  and  I  felt  my  face 
quite  red  again. 

Roger  made  no  answei*.  I  saw  he  was  vexed,  and  I  put 
down  my  bread  and  butter,  and  threw  my  arms  round  his 
neck,  and  called  him  "  dear  Father  Roger." 

That  always  softened  him.  He  gave  me  a  great  hug  in 
return,  but  still  he  did  not  speak,  till  I  touched  him  and  ask- 
ed him  what  he  was  thinking  about. 

"Nothing,  Trot,  that  you  can  understand  now;  but  it 
wouldn't  be  such  a  hard  world  to  live  in,  if  people  looked 
more  at  what  is  meant,  and  less  at  what  is  done." 

He  was  very  silent  after  that,  as  was  his  wont,  and  when 
tea  was  over  he  went  out  again,  and  I  took  up  my  stocking 
and  tried  to  mend  it  in  Miss  Milieent's  fashion,  feeling  some- 
how, from  what  Roger  had  said,  that  I  had  been  hard  upon 
liei". 


URSULA.  31 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Sunday  was  the  pleasantest  day  in  the  week  to  me. 
Roger  walked  with  me  over  the  down  quite  early,  and  left 
me  at  the  Sunday-school,  and  went  himself  to  see  an  old 
aunt,  my  mother's  sister,  who  was  very  infirm  and  could 
never  go  out ;  and  there  lie  stayed  till  church-time.  I  sat 
with  the  school-children  in  church ;  but  Roger's  seat  was 
very  near,  and  I  could  see  him,  whenever  I  looked  up,  with 
his  eyes  upon  his  book,  and  that  made  me  look  upon  mine. 
Otherwise  there  was  a  good  deal  to  teach  one  to  be  inatten- 
tive :  the  boys  sat  close  to  us,  and  were  very  troublesome ; 
slyly  pulling  at  each  other's  books,  and  whispering,  and  then 
the  master  would  reach  over  into  the  middle  of  them  with  his 
stick,  and  give  a  sharp  tap,  which  just  as  likely  touched  the 
good  ones  as  the  bad.  The  girls  were  not  any  better  than 
the  boys.  I  was  often  tapped  myself,  though  I  don't  really 
think  I  deserved  it  so  much  as  some  of  the  others.  There 
was  such  a  trouble,  too,  about  repeating  the  responses. 
Some  would  speak  out,  and  some  would  not ;  and  every  now 
and  then,  one  boy  took  it  into  his  head  to  shout ;  and  down 
came  a  message  from  the  master,  that  if  he  did,  he  should  be 
caned ;  then  we  all  grew  silent,  and  there  came  another  mes- 
sage, that  if  we  didn't  speak  out  we  should  be  locked  up.  It 
was  trying  to  know  how  to  keep  straight  amongst  it  all ;  but 
what  did  me  most  good  was  to  see  Roger  standing  there,  so 
still,  and  grave,  and  earnest-looking,  and  his  face  different,  in 
a  way,  from  what  it  was  at  other  times.  It  was  a  very  dear 
face  always  to  me ;  though  his  skin  was  not  smooth,  and  his 
hair  brushed  neat  like  a  gentleman's,  I  often  thought  I 
would  not  change  it  for  the  handsomest  picture  I  had  ever 
seen.  But  on  Sundays,  in  church,  another  look  was  given  to 
it,  as  if  all  in  it  that  had  been  gathered  from  the  toil  and 
care  of  life  had  been  taken  away.  It  came  across  me  one 
day,  when  I  noticed  him  just  as  he  rose  up  from  his  prayers, 
that  if  I  were  to  see  him  iu  Heaven,  he  could  scarcely  be 
anything  difi"ercnt. 

That  Sunday  we  went  into  church  rather  more  noisily 


32  URSULA. 

than  usual ;  Kit*y  Dove,  Sarali's  sister,  pushed  little  Johnnie 
Rowe,  and  nearly  threw  him  down,  and  Johnnie  pinched 
Kitty,  and  made  her  cry  ;  and  some  of  the  bigger  girls  were 
whispering  about  it  to  the  mistress,  and  begging  that  Kitty 
and  Johnnie  might  not  sit  near  each  other.  But  all  of  a 
sudden  there  was  a  great  "  Hush  !  "  The  girls  left  off 
fidgeting,  and  put  their  hands  in  their  laps ;  and  the  boys 
began  to  find  out  the  Psalms  in  their  prayer-books.  A  sud- 
den fright  had  taken  them  all.  I  peeped  out  from  a  back 
corner  in  which  I  was  sitting,  and  saw  at  the  church-door 
Mrs.  Richardson,  the  vicar's  wife,  and  Miss  Richardson,  and 
one  or  two  other  ladies  who  taught  in  the  Sunday-school, 
and  in  the  middle  of  them  Miss  Milicent, — not  one  whit  dif- 
ferent from  what  she  was  on  Saturday  night,  just  the  same 
loose  jacket  and  red  handkerchief.  The  girls  glanced  round 
at  her,  and  the  corners  of  their  mouths  went ;  but  not  a  word 
was  said.  Mrs.  Richardson  and  the  other  ladies  went  to 
their  seats  ;  but  up  came  Miss  Milicent  to  us  ;  her  eye  seemed 
to  take  in  all  at  one  glance,  and  half  a  dozen  names  were  out 
of  her  mouth  almost  in  a  breath,  and  in  a  whisper  so  loud  it 
could  be  heard  nearly  all  over  the  church  : — "  Mary  Webb, 
how's  your  mother  ? "  "  Fanny  Hart,  w^hat  d'ye  mean  by 
coming  in  that  fine  bonnet  ?  "  "  Johnnie,  you've  got  a  swelled 
face,  I  see ;  come  up  to  Dene,  and  you  shall  have  some  stuff 
to  do  it  good."  "Jane,  who  is  that  little  one  by  you  ?  Your 
sister  ?  She  is  too  young  to  come  to  church ;  she  won't 
behave  -well.  Mind  you  all  attend.  Keep  your  eyes  upon 
your  books ;  speak  out  properly.  I  shall  be  looking  at  you. 
Mrs.  Richardson  says  you  are  very  idle.  I  shall  have  an 
eye  upon  you."  Miss  Milicent  shook  her  head  fiercely,  and 
turned  away ;  and  the  moment  her  back  was  towards  us,  and 
she  was  out  of  the  hearing  of  a  whisper,  such  a  buzz  began 
as  might  almost  have  drowned  the  clergyman's  voice  when 
he  commenced  the  service,  but  that  a  loud  tap  from  the  stick 
came  down  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  head  boy,  sounding 
loudly  through  the  church,  and  making  Miss  Milicent  thrust 
her  head  forward,  and  shake  her  hand  at  us,  threatening  a 
still  severer  and  more  mysterious  punishment.  Yes,  we  were 
all  quiet  after  that;  but  I  don't  think  any  of  us  remembered 
that  we  were  bound  to  be  so  because  we  were  in  God's 
Presence. 


URSULA.  33 

When  we  came  out  of  church,  Roger  met  me,  and  I  went 
with  him  to  speak  to  "William,  who  always  came  to  Compton 
now,  that  he  might  have  a  chance  of  seeing  Roger.  Before, 
he  had  been  accustomed  sometimes  to  walk  over  the  hill  the 
other  way  to  Hattou.  It  was  a  little  farther,  but  William 
rather  liked  making  a  business  of  going  to  church.  Roger 
always  kept  to  one  church,  and  went  twice  if  he  could, 
though  at  that  time  it  was  too  far  for  me ;  but  AVilliam 
never  troubled  himself  about  service  in  the  afternoon.  He 
said  it  was  the  only  time  he  had  for  looking  over  his  ac- 
counts. I  used  to  fancy  that  it  worried  Roger  to  have  to 
meet  William  and  talk  to  him  just  after  church.  He  never 
said  it,  but  he  used  to  answer  rather  shortly  when  William 
began  consulting  him  about  the  crops ;  and  that  was  not  at 
all  his  way  generally.  But  William  was  a  great  talker,  and 
seldom  noticed  much  whether  any  one  was  listening  to  him, 
as  long  as  he  could  have  his  say  without  interruption. 

I  was  glad  to  be  away  from  the  school-children,  for  I 
saw  Miss  Milicent  go  up  to  them  again ;  and  I  was  beginning 
to  have  a  feeling  that  wherever  she  was,  a  scolding  was  close 
behind.  We  went  up  the  lane  by  the  Abbey  Farm,  which 
took  us  to  the  foot  of  the  down,  and  then  we  scrambled  up  a 
steep  path  which  was  a  shorter  way  than  by  the  cart-track. 
Such  a  very  bright  Sunday  it  was  !  The  sky  and  the  sea  so 
blue,  and  all  the  country  quiet,  so  as  it  never  is  on  any  other 
day, — a  kind  of  quietness  which  seemed  as  if  it  would  creep 
into  one's  heart  and  live  there.  How  I  wished  that  William 
would  leave  oif  talking  about  the  crops  as  he  did  ;  not  letting 
one  be  at  peace  for  an  instant,  but  pointing  out  first  this  field, 
and  then  that,  and  reckoning  how  much  had  been  got  from 
each,  and  complaining — William  always  complained,  when  he 
talked  of  his  crops — that  the  rent  of  Sandcombc  was  so  high, 
it  made  him  much  worse  off  than  his  neighbours  !  Roger 
bore  it  A^ery  patiently ;  he  laughed  a  little  now  and  then,  and 
said  something  rather  sharp  in  a  good-natured  way  ;  but  he 
never  lectured  William,  nor  let  him  see  that  he  wished  to 
get  away  from  him,  and  so  William  was  very  fond  of  him, 
uud  put  forth  all  that  was  in  his  mind  quite  freely. 

We  were  at  the  top  of  the  down,  and  there  we  were  to  part 
company.     Roger  took   out   his  watch,  observing  he  must 

Vol.  1—2* 


34  U  E,  S  U  L  A  . 

liurry  home,  for  there  would  not  be  time  else  for  dinner  and 
gouig  to  afternoon  service.  William  waited  before  he  re- 
plied, and  then  he  said,  in  a  kind  of  awkward,  shy  way,  "  I 
have  some  other  business  in  hand  for  this  afternoon."  He 
laughed  so  oddly  that  I  caught  up  his  words  and  said,  "  What 
business,  William  ?  People  should  not  do  business,  you 
know,  on  Sundays." 

"  You  are  a  prying  little  body,"  he  answered  quickly, 
though  not  at  all  as  if  he  was  angry.  "  Roger,  you'll  re- 
pent it  some  day,  if  you  don't  keep  her  in  better  order." 

"  Miss  Milicent  will  do  that,"  said  Roger,  and  he  laughed  ; 
"  but  I  should  like  to  know  your  business  myself,  William, 
since  you  have  chosen  to  mention  it." 

"  Business  not  lying  so  very  near  home,"  continued  Wil- 
liam ;  "taking  me  over  to  Hatton  perchance." 

"  Groing  to  church  ?"  I  said ;  "  I  wish  Roger  would  go  to 
Hatton  Church  too,  and  take  me  with  him." 

"  Something  to  do  with  going  to  church,  to  be  sure,"  said 
William,  laughing  again,  as  though  he  had  a  mystery  in  his 
mind.  "  What  do  you  say,  Roger  ?  Do  you  approve  ?  '■  The 
better  day,  the  better  deed,'  you  know  !  " 

Roger  considered,  then  said,  "  I  would  have  all  things  go 
right  with  you,  William,  if  I  could.  But  these  are  not  mat- 
ters for  any  to  interfere  in  ;  only  I  think,  if  you  went  to 
church  first,  you  might  be  better  likely  to  come  to  a  wise 
choice." 

"  I  can't  go  to  church  at  Hatton,"  said  William;  "Mr. 
Fowler  preaches  in  the  afternoon ;  and  he's  a  drawler,  and 
sends  me  to  sleep :  it's  no  good  in  the  world  for  me  to  go  to 
church  in  the  afternoon." 

"  Well,  you  must  take  your  own  way,"  said  Roger.  "  I 
only  know  that  I  find  things  go  straighter  when  I  put  church 
and  such  things  first,  than  when  I  let  them  come  in  second  ; 
and  so  I  thought  it  might  be  with  you." 

"  Men  are  not  like  sheep,  they  don't  all  run  the  same 
way,"  replied  William,  rather  sulkily.  "  So  you  won't  give 
me  your  good  wishes,  Roger  !  " 

Roger  took  his  brother's  hand,  and  shook  it  with  a  hearty 
grasp.  His  heart  seemed  full,  and  he  tui-ned  away,  and 
walked  home  in  silence. 


URSULA.  35 

They  thought  I  did  not  understand,  but  I  did.  That, 
sharp  woman,  Leah  Morris,  lived  at  Hatton,  and  she  was 
going  to  be  my  sister-in-law.  I  asked  no  questions  of  Roger, 
I  knew  it  was  a  matter  that  vexed  him ;  but  we  had  din- 
ner as  soon  as  we  reached  home,  and  then  Roger  went  to 
church  again.  I  sat  for  some  time  in  the  window-seat  learn- 
ing my  Collect  and  Psalm  for  the  next  Sunday ;  and  then 
went  over  to  see  Mrs.  Mason,  who  was  staying  at  home  to 
let  Fanny  go  to  church,  and  had  a  game  of  play  with  the 
kitten,  and  read  a  story  out  of  one  of  the  school-library 
magazines,  and  when  it  was  growing  rather  late,  walked  up 
to  the  top  of  the  down  to  meet  Roger  coming  back  from 
church.  After  that  I  helped  Sarah  get  tea  ready  :  we  always 
had  it  in  the  parlour,  and  as  there  was  no  hurry  for  work,  we 
were  a  long  time  at  it.  I  talked  to  Roger  about  scliool,  and 
what  I  learnt,  and  how  I  liked  the  little  boys  and  girls;  and 
when  we  had  finished,  and  Sarah  was  washing  up  the  tea-things 
in  the  kitchen,  Roger  brought  out  a  large  Bible  with  pictures 
for  me  to  look  at,  and  soon  after  that  it  was  bed-time.  I  was 
very  happy,  but  I  had  not  forgotten  all  the  while  that  Leah 
Morris  was  to  be  my  sister-in-law. 


CHAPTER  V. 

I  DID  not  see  Miss  Milicent  again  till  Monday  evening, 
when  I  came  back  from  school,  for  I  went  away  early  to  be 
at  Compton  at  nine  o'clock,  and  always  took  my  dinner  with 
me  to  avoid  the  long  walk  in  the  middle  of  the  day. 

She  was  at  the  door  talking  to  Roger  when  I  reached 
home,  and  I  hoped  she  did  not  notice  me  at  first.  Her 
tongue  was  going  so  fast  about  fences  and  ditches  :  I  believe 
she  thought  she  knew  as  much  about  them  as  Roger  did.  I 
passed  her  and  went  indoors,  and  had  just  taken  off  my  bon- 
net and  begun  to  learn  my  lessons  for  the  next  day,  when 
wide  open  went  the  door,  and  in  she  came  by  herself.  "  So," 
she  said,  "  little  body,  how  did  you  manage  your  work  on 
Saturday  ?  "     It  was  not  an  ill-natured  voice  after  all,  and 


36  URSULA. 

Roger's  words  were  remembered ;  so  I  answered,  as  civilly  as  I 
could,  "that  I  had  tried  to  do  it  right." 

"  Very  good ;  let  me  see.  Did  you  wear  the  stockings 
yesterday  ?  have  you  got  them  on  to-day  ?  "  Before  I  could 
speak  again,  she  had  caught  up  my  foot,  and  pulled  off  my 
shoe  to  look.  Couldn't  I  have  kicked  her  !  I  wonder  I 
didn't ;  but  I  sat  quiet,  not  trusting  myself  to  speak.  She 
spied  the  hole  directly.  "  Pretty  well  considering.  I  shall 
send  you  some  of  my  darning  for  a  pattern.  Saturday  is  a 
holiday ;  you  shall  come  and  work  with  me  on  Saturdays. 
Mrs.  Weir  wants  to  see  you.  Come  across  with  me,  I  shall 
take  you  to  her,  and  there  is  something  to  spend  in  sugar- 
plums ;  I  suppose  you  like  sugar-plums."  She  tossed  six- 
pence into  my  lap,  and  I  believe  I  said  "  Thank  you."  I 
did  not  dare  return  it.  I  followed  her  across  the  road  to 
the  house.  Her  step  might  have  been  a  giant's  stride,  and 
she  went  straight  from  one  point  to  another,  like  an  arrow. 
It  seemed  as  though  she  would  have  knocked  down  a  wall  if 
it  had  come  in  her  way.  We  went  in  by  the  kitchen,  and 
Miss  Milicent  looked  in  as  we  passed  to  tell  the  cook  to  be 
sure  not  to  let  the  mutton  be  over-roasted,  and  to  take  care 
that  there  were  mashed  potatoes,  browned,  for  Mr.  Weir,  and 
plenty  of  wine  sauce  with  the  pudding.  The  cook  had  a  very 
short  manner  and  scarcely  answered  her.  The  family  dined 
late,  and  there  was  a  great  smell  of  the  dinner  in  the  passage, 
which  made  Miss  Milicent  grumble  a  good  deal ;  indeed  she 
had  not  left  off  talking  about  it  when  we  reached  the  drawing- 
room  door. 

"  Mother  !  I  have  brought  Ursie  Grant  to  see  you !  " 
That  was  the  way  I  was  introduced,  and  Miss  Milicent  gave 
me  a  push,  which,  I  suppose,  she  meant  to  be  gentle,  and  left 
me  standing  shyly  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Weir  looked  even  less,  half-buried  as  she  was  in  her 
arm-chair,  than  when  I  had  seen  her  standing.  It  was  not 
merely  that  she  was  short  and  thin,  but  her  features  were 
singularly  small, — her  bones  slight,  like  those  of  a  child,  and 
her  hands  so  white  and  delicate,  it  appeared  as  though  the 
least  rough  touch  would  have  broken  them.  She  reminded 
me  of  what  I  had  read  of  fairies,  and  the  soft,  low  voice, 
which  bade  me  come  near  and  say,  "How  do  you  do  ?  "  pleas- 


URSULA.  37 

ant,  and  kind   though  it  was,  came  forth  in  a  slow,  precise 
way,  quite  different  from  anything  I  had  ever  hoard  before. 

"  Ursula  is  your  name,  is  it  not  my  little  dear  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Weir,  and  she  put  one  of  her  slender  arms  round  me, 
and  kissed  me  on  the  forehead. 

"  Ursie,  they  call  me.  Ma'am,"  was  my  answer. 

"  Ursie,  or  Ursula,  it  is  a  very  good  name.  There  has 
been  one  Saint  Ursula;  I  trust  that  you  may  be  another." 

I  stared  at  her.  She  said  it  as  if  she  certainly  believed 
that  it  was  possible,  and  even  likely,  I  should  be  a  saint ;  and 
my  notion  of  a  saint  was  of  some  one  whose  business  it  was 
to  read  the  Bible  and  say  prayers  all  day.  I  replied,  "  If 
you  please.  Ma'am,  Roger  says  that  if  I  am  ever  anything,  he 
thinks  I  shall  be  a  dressmaker." 

Mrs.  Weir  did  not  laugh, — that  was  one  peculiarity  about 
her, — she  took  everybody's  words  just  for  what  they  meant. 
She  only  answered,  "  I  can  explain  my  meaning  when  we  arc 
better  acquainted.  Ring  the  bell,  Ursula,"  and  then  she  took 
up  again  the  work  which  she  was  doing,  which  was  a  little 
cotton  frock  for  a  child,  and  I  stood  silently  by  her  side, 
waiting  for  what  was  to  come  next. 

Some  minutes  passed  before  the  bell  was  answered,  and  I 
amused  myself  in  the  meantime  by  looking  round  the  room. 
It  was  wonderfully  changed  from  what  it  had  been  when  the 
family  were  away.  I  could  not  think  where  all  the  pretty 
things  had  come  from.  Such  bright  covered  books  there 
were  on  the  round  centre  table,  and  flowers,  and  a  carved 
paper-knife,  and  a  beautiful  little  box,  inlaid  with  mother  of 
pearl ;  and,  on  another  table  in  the  corner,  a  curious  cabinet, 
with  figures  of  animals  in  front  of  each  drawer,  and  some 
strange  figures  standing  by  it  Avith  wliite  dresses  and  copper- 
coloured  faces ;  Indians  I  believe  they  were.  The  best 
chintz  curtains,  too,  had  been  put  up,  and  the  striped  cover- 
ings of  the  chairs  taken  ofi'.  All  looked  surprisingly  neat 
and  pretty;  and  the  prettiest  thing  of  all  was  Mrs.  Weir's 
work-table,  placed  by  her  arm-chair.  It  was  a  tiny  table,  made 
in  squares  of  black  and  yellow  wood,  and  scooped  into  hollows 
round  the  edge,  and,  on  it,  stood  the  loveliest  white  work-box, 
lined  with  blue,  and  having  a  row  of  mother  of  pearl  reels  of 
cotton,  and  silk  winders,  with  coloured  silks  beautifully  wouud^ 


38  URSULA. 

and  a  pincusliion  with  the  pins  placed  in  rows,  as  straight  as 
thougli  they  had  been  put  in  hy  rule.  It  was  just  fitted  for 
Mrs.  Weir  :  scissors,  and  thimble,  and  silver  bodkin,  and 
smelling  bottle,  so  small  and  bright,  and  new-looking;  and 
on  the  same  table  was  a  little  china  flower-basket,  holding  a 
white  moss  rose,  a  carnation,  and  a  bit  of  lilac  verbena,  with 
a  sprig  of  myrtle,  and  a  piece  of  scented  geranium.  Only 
one  thing  in  the  whole  room  looked  unsuitable,  and  that  was 
a  large  work-basket  of  coloured  straw,  put  down  upon  the 
floor  by  the  window,  and  out  of  which  peeped  what  I  am 
sure  was  the  heel  of  a  knitted  stocking.  That  could  never 
have  belonged  to  Mrs.  Weir. 

The  footman  answered  the  bell.  Mrs.  Weir  was  not  in 
the  least  impatient  because  she  had  been  kept  waiting  so 
long.  She  said  to  him  just  as  gently  as  when  she  was  speak- 
ing to  me  :  "  Richard,  some  ginger  wine  and  sweet  cake,  if 
you  please ;  "  and  Richard  went  away  and  returned  with  a 
wine  decanter  and  a  plate  of  cake  placed  on  a  silver  tray. 

"  Will  you  pour  out  a  glass  of  wine,  Richard,  and  hand 
the  cake  to  little  Ursula  Grant  ?  It  will  not  do  you  harm, 
my  child." 

I  drank  off  the  wine,  not  at  all  sure  that  I  liked  it,  and 
put  down  the  glass  quickly  on  the  tray. 

Mrs.  Weir  slowly  raised  her  eyes  :  "  You  are  too  rapid, 
Ursula.     If  you  like  to  take  your  cake  home,  you  can." 

"  Thank  you,  Ma'am,"  I  caught  at  the  permission  directly, 
and  looked  towards  the  door. 

"  You  are  wishing  to  go ;  that  is  very  natural ;  but  you 
will  come  and  see  me  again,  I  hope." 

The  tone  was  cordial  and  kind,  and  yet  it  seemed  that 
Mrs.  Weir  was  trying  to  prevent  herself  from  showing  all 
she  felt. 

Something  came  over  me  which  made  me  say,  bluntly,  "  I 
shall  like  to  come.  Ma'am,  but  I  don't  want  wine  and 
cake." 

"  You  shall  not  have  them,  my  child ;  we  shall  do  better 
perhaps  without." 

"  Thank  you.  Ma'am,"  I  said  again,  as  heartily  as  thougli 
she  had  promised  me  a  present.  "  I  can  always  come  at  this 
time,  when  I  am  back  from  school,"  I  added. 


URSULA.  39 

Such  a  smile  came  over  IMrs.  Weir's  face ;  so  sweet  and 
yet  so  sad.  I  could  have  found  it  iu  my  heart  to  climb  up 
into  her  lap,  as  I  did  into  Roger's,  when  he  looked  grave,  and 
entreat  her  to  tell  me  what  it  meant.  But  she  was  too  much 
a  stranger  for  me  to  venture ;  and  even  if  I  had  known 
her  better,  I  don't  think  I  should  have  done  it.  Tears  rise 
quickly,  for  they  are  near  the  surface,  and  human  love  can 
comfort  the  grief  from  which  they  flow ;  but  such  a  smile  as 
that  was  from  a  depth  below  which  God  only  could  reach. 

That  had  been  a  very  short  visit  to  Mi-s.  Weir,  and  little 
enough  had  been  said  by  either  of  us  ;  but  yet  I  looked  for- 
ward to  going  again.  Of  course  people  would  say  that,  in 
spite  of  my  refusal  of  the  cake  and  wine,  I  secretly  hoped  to 
have  more ;  but  it  really  was  not  so.  I  felt,  directly  I  spoke 
to  Mrs.  Weir  about  it,  that  she  meant  what  she  said,  as  I 
meant  what  I  said,  and  that  we  should  be  friends  without 
any  things  of  the  kind. 

As  I  was  at  school  nearly  all  day,  thci*e  was  but  little 
spare  time  after  I  returned  for  anything  but  learning  my 
lessons,  and  tea,  and  talking  to  Roger,  and  doing  a  little 
needlework  before  bed  time ;  but  I  managed  during  the 
course  of  the  next  week  to  run  over  to  the  house  for  a  few 
moments,  whilst  Sarah  was  trying  ^to  make  the  water  boil, 
and  cutting  the  bread  and  butter ;  and  each  time  with  the 
hope  of  being  called  into  the  drawing-room  again  to  see  Mrs. 
Weir.  But  I  kept  my  wish  to  myself,  for  Mrs.  Mason  was 
very  shut  up  about  the  family,  and  never  encouraged  me  to 
talk  about  them ;  though  she  was  extremely  good-natured  to 
me  in  other  ways.  It  was  Saturday,  however,  before  I  went 
again;  the  family  had  been  at  Dene  a  week  then,  but  it 
seemed  a  month  to  me,  the  place  was  so  changed ;  and  I  had 
such  a  feeling  of  new  things  and  people  to  care  about  and 
think  of,  though  it  was  so  little  that  I  saw  of  any  one. 

This  time  Mrs.  Mason  took  me  into  the  drawing-room 
with  her.  I  observed  that  she  was  very  thoughtful  about 
Mrs.  Weir,  and  anxious  in  her  way  of  talking  to  her;  but  it 
was  rather  as  if  she  regarded  her  as  a  child  not  able  to  man- 
age for  herself  Mrs.  Weir  looked  better  since  she  came; 
she  had  more  colour  iu  her  cheeks,  and  IMrs.  Mason  noticed 
this  with  much  pleasure,  and  both  of  them  praised  the  air 


40  URSULA. 

of  Dene,  and  said  there  was  no  place  like  it,  in  which  I  quite 
agreed.  I  was  made  to  say  the  hymn  I  had  been  learning  at 
school  during  the  week,  and  then  Mrs. Weir  said  she  should  like 
to  hear  me  read.  I  knew  it  was  tea  time,  but  I  was  afraid  to 
say  it ;  so  Mrs.  Mason  lighted  a  wax  candle,  placed  in  a 
beautiful  little  silver  candlestick,  for  it  was  growing  dark,  and 
I  took  up  the  Testament  which  Mrs.  Weir  had  put  into  my 
hand,  and  turned  over  the  pages  to  find  the  Twelfth  Chapter 
of  St.  Luke,  that  being  what  I  had  been  told  to  read.  I 
had  only  finished  the  first  three  verses  when  we  were  in- 
terrupted. The  step  was  so  loud  that,  before  I  looked  up, 
I  thought  it  must  be  Miss  Milicent ;  but  it  was  Mr.  Weir, 
and  I  felt  very  frightened,  for  it  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen 
him  so  near.  He  stalked  in  and  sat  himself  down  in  the  arm 
chair  without  speaking. 

"  Go  on,  Ursula,'"  said  Mrs.  Weir,  taking  no  notice  of  her 
husband  ;  but  her  voice  was  less  firm  than  it  had  been  a 
minute  before. 

Mrs.  Mason  was  going  away. 

"  You  had  better  take  the  child  with  you,  Mason,"  said 
Mr.  Weir. 

His  tone  grated  upon  me  like  a  sharp  saw,  though  it 
was  not  rough  or  unlike  that  of  a  gentleman. 

"  Ursula  was  only  going  to  read  a  very  few  verses,  that 
I  might  judge  how  she  improves  at  school,"  said  Mrs.  Weir, 
raising  herself  up  in  her  chair,  and  leaning  forward  eagerly. 

"  '  Much  study  is  a  weariness  to  the  flesh,'  is  it  not  r"' 
said  Mr.  Weir,  sarcastically. 

Mrs.  Weir  sank  back,  and  folded  her  hands  one  upon  the 
other,  as  she  said,  "  Mason,  the  little  girl  may  go." 

I  thought  Mr.  Weir  would  have  relented ;  but  he  sat 
brooding  over  his  own  thoughts,  whatever  they  were.  He 
did  not  seem  to  know  that  I  was  going  till  I  reached  the 
door :  then  he  called  out  suddenly,  "  Grant  is  your  name 
isn't  it,  child  ?  What  have  you  to  do  with  William  Grant 
of  Sandcombe  ?" 

"  He  is  my  brother,  Sir,"  I  answered. 

"  Oh  !  He  wants  me  to  lower  his  rent  for  some  land 
because  he  is  going  to  be  married,"  continued  Mr.  Weir,  ad- 
dressing his  wife.     "  He  is  mistaken  if  he  thinks  I  am  likely 


URSULA.  41 

to  do  anything  to  encourage  matrimony."  A  light,  hollow 
laugh  followed  the  speech. 

I  did  not  hear  Mrs.  Weir's  answer,  for  Mrs.  Mason  hur- 
ried mo  out  of  the  room. 

"  Who  told  Mr.  Weir  that  "William  is  going  to  be  mar- 
ried ?"  I  exclaimed,  eagerly,  as  tlie  door  Avas  shut  behind  us. 

"Who  but  himself?"  said  Mrs.  Mason,  laughing. 
"  Didn't  you  hear  Mr.  Weir  say  so  ?  " 

"But  William  didn't  tell  me,"  I  replied;  "and  he 
ought ;  sisters  ought  to  know  before  any  one  ;  and  I  don't  like 
Leah  Morris  ;  I  can't  bear  her  ;  I  hate  her." 

"  Little  folks  have  no  right  to  hate  any  one,"  said  a  loud 
voice,  issuing  from  the  pantry,  which  we  were  just  at  the  mo- 
ment passing.  Miss  Milicent  appeared  with  her  sleeves 
turned  up  at  the  wrist,  and  a  bunch  of  raisins  in  her  hand. 
"  It  will  be  a  very  good  thing  for  you,  Ursie  Grant,  to  have 
a  sister-in-law  to  keep  you  in  order.  Your  brother  Roger 
spoils  3'ou,  and  I  have  told  him  so.  Mason,  there  are  not 
raisins  enough  for  dessert ;  why  weren't  they  sent  for  from 
Hove  ?" 

"  They  were  sent  for.  Miss  Milicent,"  replied  Mrs.  Ma- 
son ;   "  only  the  carrier  is  not  come  back." 

"  The  carrier  must  manage  to  be  here  earlier,"  continued 
Miss  Milicent.  "  He  stays  in  the  town,  drinking;  it's  a  dis- 
grace. Roger  Grant  goes  to  Hove  every  Saturday ;  I  shall 
get  him  to  bring  out  the  things." 

"  You  won't  find  that  so  easy,  I  am  afraid,  Miss  Mili- 
cent," said  Mrs.  Mason.  "  As  often  as  not  he  rides  in ;  and 
he  only  goes  occasionally,  when  it  is  necessary." 

"  And  he  has  a  great  many  things  to  bring  out  for  our- 
selves," I  added,  proudly. 

It  provoked  me  to  receive  no  answer.  I  hoped  I  had 
offended  Miss  Milicent ;  but  she  merely  said  in  an  off-hand 
way,  "  There  will  be  a  change  before  next  Saturday  ;"  and 
then  she  closed  the  pantry  door  in  a  hurr}-,  and  went  back 
to  her  employment  of  putting  out  the  dessert,  w'hich  she  al- 
ways did  herself. 

"  She  does  not  mean  badly,"  was  Mrs.  Mason's  comment ; 
"  but  she  loves  her  own  way  desperately." 

Mrs.  Mason  spoke  as  though  she  was  saying  it  to  herself ; 


42  URSULA. 

but  I  took  up  tlie  words  and  replied,  "  I  can't  tell  what  Miss 
Milicent  means,  only  slie  is  very  cross." 

"  Not  so  much  so  as  she  seems ;  you  will  see  that  by  and 
by,  Ursie.  And  little  folks  like  you  should  never  set  up  to 
be  pert  and  contrary." 

"  She  makes  it  come  all  up  here,"  I  said,  and  I  stood 
still  and  pointed  to  my  throat.  "  I  can't  keep  it  down;  and 
I  don't  think  Eoger,  nor  William,  nor  any  of  them  would 
wish  it.     Roger  is  not  made  to  be  a  carrier." 

Mrs.  Mason  only  laughed ;  and,  encouraged  by  not  being 
reproved,  I  ran  on  much  in  the  same  way,  encouraging  my- 
self by  boasting  of  my  own  pride,  and  saying  I  was  not 
bound  to  obey  Miss  Milicent ;  neither  was  Roger ;  and  if 
he  was  not  treated  well,  he  would  go  away  from  Dene ;  and 
then  what  would  they  all  do  ? 

"  Find  some  one  else  in  his  stead,"  replied  Mrs.  Mason, 
carelessly.     "  Roger  is  not  every  one,  you  know,  child." 

Without  answering,  I  let  go  her  hand,  rushed  across  the 
carriage-road  to  the  cottage,  burst  open  the  door,  and  seeing 
Roger  seated  at  the  tea-table,  threw  myself  upon  his  neck  in 
a  fit  of  trembling  passion. 

"Well!  Trot!  Well!  how  now?  What's  amiss?  Look 
up,  Ursie ;"  and  Roger  patted  my  head. 

Rut  I  was  not  to  be  so  easily  smoothed.  I  poured  forth 
a  torrent  of  indignation  against  Mrs.  Mason,  Miss  Milicent, 
Mr.  Weir,  William,  every  one ;  I  mixed  them  all  up  toge- 
ther, making  very  little  sense ;  iDut  letting  it  be  seen  plainly 
that  I  was  iis  full  of  pride  and  self-will  as  a  child  of  my  age 
need  be  ;  though  I  put  it  all  off  upon  my  love  for  Roger. 

The  storm  was  allowed  to  exhaust  itself,  and  then  Roger 
bade  me  dry  my  eyes  and  go  up  stairs,  and  wash  my  hands 
and  come  down  again  quickly.  I  did  as  I  was  told,  feeling 
in  a  way  that  I  had  been  very  silly,  though  I  would  not 
have  owned  it  for  the  world. 

Roger  usually  went  out  again  directly  after  tea ;  but  this 
night  he  sent  Sarah  into  the  outhouse,  and  told  her  to  wash 
up  the  tea  things  there ;  and  then  he  took  me  up  on  his  lap, 
and  said,  gravely,  "  I  meant  to  have  told  Trot  that  William 
was  going  to  be  married,  only  she  has  heard  it  before." 

"  I  don't  cai'e  about  it,"  I  said  gloomily.  "  But  I  hate 
Leah  Morris." 


URSULA.  43 

"  That  is  said  like  a  very  silly  little  ^ii"!)"  answered 
Roger  ;  "  and  it  must  not  be  said  again."  lie  looked  more 
stern  than  I  had  ever  seen  him. 

I  drew  closer  to  him,  trying  to  fondle  him,  but  he  kept 
rather  aloof. 

"  William  has  a  right  to  marry  whom  he  will,"  he  con- 
tinued ;  "  and  if  Leah  Morris  makes  him  a  good  wife,  there 
is  no  one  to  complain.  And  I  won't  have  my  little  Trot 
speaking  as  if  she  knew  what  was  best,  when  she  doesn't  and 
can't  know.  Yours  is  a  bad  temper,  Ursie ;  and  it  will 
bring  you  into  trouble. 

"  I  shouldn't  care ;  I  don't  care  for  anything ;  only  for 
you,  Roger,"  I  said,  more  humbly. 

"Yes,  you  do,  Ursie;  you  care  for  yourself  If  you 
didn't,  you  would  not  fret  me  by  putting  yourself  into  these 
humours." 

"  It  was  Miss  Milicent,"  I  exclaimed.  "  I  should  never 
have  been  so  cross  about  William,  only  she  made  it  all  come 
up  in  my  throat  by  the  way  she  talked.  They  don't  want 
us,  Roger,  not  Mr.  '\V'eir,  nor  Miss  Milicent,  nor  any  of  them  ; 
and  Mrs.  Mason  said,  that  if  you  went  away,  they  would 
find  some  one  to  put  in  your  place." 

"  Of  course  they  would,"  he  said,  and  he  laughed ;  "  but 
I  mean  to  make  myself  so  useful,  Ursie,  that  they  sha'n't 
very  easily  find  one  to  take  my  place.  That  is  the  true 
way  to  go  on,  if  you  want  people  to  value  you.  But  it  is 
not  the  value  we  put  upon  one  anothor,  but  what  God  puts 
upon  us,  that  is  of  consefjucnce,"  he  added,  and  the  Sunday 
look,  which  seemed  to  take  him  quite  away  from  earth,  came 
over  his  face. 

It  did  more  for  mc  than  any  talking ;  and  the  tears  came 
into  my  eyes,  as  I  said,  "  I  am  a  very  wicked  child,  Roger ; 
will  God  ever  make  me  good  ?  " 

"  We  will  say  our  prayers,  both  of  us,  and  try,"  he  an- 
swered ;  "  that  is  the  sure  way.  But,  Ursie,  3'ou  must  know 
what  to  pray  about.  You  like  dearly  to  make  every  one  go 
your  way  ;  that  is  your  fault." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  and  I  thought  for  a  moment ;  "  but  if  I 
could  have  things  my  own  way,  I  would  not  be  like  Miss 
INIilicent ;  I  would  make  every  one  love  mc." 


44  URSULA. 

"  Not  so  easy  that,  Trot.  I  may  like  my  way,  and  you 
may  like  yours ;  and  though  your  way  were  ever  so  good, 
yet,  if  it  went  contrary  to  mine,  I  shouldn't  be  pleased." 

"  Then  you  would  give  up,"  I  said  quickly ;  "  because  you 
always  do." 

He  looked  very  grave.  I  said  again,  "  You  always  give 
up,  because  you  are  my  own  dear  brother  Roger." 

"Maybe  I  have  given  up  too  much  already,"  he  said; 
"  I  am  not  so  sure,  Ursie,  that  you  wouldn't  be  better  living 
away  at  school." 

I  put  my  hand  before  his  mouth  as  tbe  words  escaped, 
"  You  promised — you  told  me,"  I  exclaimed  ;  but  he  inter- 
rupted me. 

"  No,  Ursie,  I  did  not  promise,  I  said  we  would  try." 

"  But  we  have  tried,  and  I  am  going  to  be  so  good,  I 
don't  mean  to  be  in  a  tantrum  once  again  all  the  next  month. 
Oh !  Koger,  Roger,  I  should  die  if  you  sent  me  away."  I 
clung  to  him,  and  my  tears  came  very  fast,  but  they  were 
not  angry  as  before. 

He  soothed  me  now  in  his  own  kind  way ;  but  he  said  I 
must  not  talk  of  dying  because  I  might  have  to  go  away  from 
him.     Perhaps  it  would  be  my  duty  by  and  by. 

"  But  you  are  my  brother,"  I  said  ;  "  it  can't  ever  be  right 
to  go  away ; — only  if  you  wished  it,"  and  I  turned  to  him 
with  a  sudden  pang  at  my  heart. 

"That  is  not  very  likely,  Ursie ;  but  there  are  many 
changes  in  this  world,  and  it  is  well  to  be  ready  for 
them." 

"  But  you  would  not  love  any  one  more  than  me,  ever  ?  " 
I  said,  and  I  raised  my  head,  which  had  been  resting  on  his 
shoulder,  and  looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

"  Not  more,  Ursie ;  no,  not  more."  His  tone  did  not 
satisfy  me. 

"  And  not  so  much,"  I  added ;  "  no  one  could  come  into 
Ursie's  place." 

"  No  one,  indeed  ;  little  Trot  knows  she  is  Roger's  dar- 
ling." 

"  And  I  will  be  your  wife.  I  would  rather  marry  you 
than  any  one  else,"  I  said. 

He  only  laughed  and  kissed  me. 


U  B  S  U  L  A  .  45 


CHAPTER  VI. 

How  conversations  rest  in  a  child's  mind,  when  no  one 
suspects  it !  There  was  no  reason  that  what  Roger  had  said 
that  evening  should  have  been  remembered  particularly,  but 
it  was ;  I  fancied  it  a  kind  of  agreement  we  had  made  that 
we  were  to  be  all  in  all  to  each  other;  and  I  thought  that 
now,  when  William  was  going  to  marry  Leah  Morris,  there 
was  greater  cause  than  ever  why  Roger  and  I  should  love 
each  other.  This  made  me  try  to  please  him  more,  and  I 
kept  a  stricter  watch  over  my  temper,  and  learned  my  les- 
sons more  carefully,  so  as  to  bring  home  more  good  marks 
from  school.  I  had  much  just  then,  I  must  confess,  to  keep 
me  in  good  humour.  William's  marriage  was  a  great  event, 
and  in  spite  of  my  hatred  of  Leah  Morris,  it  interested  me 
very  much.  Besides,  Leah  was  such  a  grand  lady,  I  had 
not  any  notion  how  grand,  till  I  heard  the  children  at  school 
talking  of  her.  Some  of  them  had  relations  at  Hatton,  and 
they  brought  all  kinds  of  gossip  about  her  to  Comptou. 
The  Morrises  lived  in  a  farm-house  which  was  only  a  little 
smaller  than  the  Abbey  Farm  at  Compton,  and  Miss  Morris, 
as  Leah  was  always  called,  had  been  to  school  at  Hove,  and 
had  learnt  to  play  on  the  piano,  and  visited  the  surgeon's 
wife,  and  had  been  known  to  drink  tea  at  the  parsonage. 
These  were  distinctions  which  made  the  village  people  look 
up  to  her  as  somebody  very  much  above  them ;  but,  I  think, 
what  came  over  them  most  was  the  sight  of  the  green  bonnet, 
and  the  black  silk  cloak  with  lace  round  it,  which  she  wore 
at  Church  on  Sundays.  Such  a  beautiful  bonnet  I  was  told 
it  was,  with  such  smart  flowers  on  the  outside  ;  it  was  much 
finer  than  any  the  vicar's  wife  ever  wore.  I  don't  mean  that 
hearing  of  these  things  made  me  like  Leah  ;  I  did  not  find 
that  any  one  liked  her,  but  I  thought  it  a  grand  thing  to  bo 
connected  with  her;  and  as  I  was  not  going  to  live  with  her, 
it  signified  little  to  me  then  what  she  was  in  other  ways. 

Roger  asked  for  a  lioliday  for  me,  one  Wednesday,  when 
the  marriage  was  quite  settled,  that  I  might  go  over  to  Sand- 
combe  with  him  and  drink  tea,  and  see  Leah,  for  she  and  her 


46  U  E  S  U  L  A  . 

mother  were  to  be  there.  Roger  managed  all  his  business 
earlier  on  purpose ;  and  I  had  put  on  my  Sunday  frock,  and 
we  were  just  setting  oflf,  when  a  message  came,  saying  that 
Mrs.  Weir  wanted  to  see  Eoger  directly.  It  was  Fanny  who 
gave  the  message,  and  as  we  happened  to  be  standing  close 
by  the  kitchen  door,  she  told  me  to  go  in  and  wait  till  Roger 
came  back.  I  sat  down  in  a  chair  watching  the  cook  getting 
the  dinner  ready,  when  in  came  Mr.  Weir.  "  What  have 
you  got  for  dinner  ?  "  he  said,  speaking  out  quickly.  Cook 
answered  that  Miss  Milicent  had  ordered  a  couple  of 
chickens.  "  They  will  be  over-roasted.  I  must  put  oif 
dinner.  Come  to  me  for  orders,  not  to  Miss  Milicent ;  " 
and  he  stalked  out  of  the  kitchen,  as  if  he  had  been  too  con- 
descending in  putting  his  foot  into  it. 

Such  a  fuss  the  cook  was  in  !  I  never  saw  anything  like 
it.  Jane,  the  housemaid  was  in  the  kitchen,  and  Cook  let 
out  her  anger  to  her.  "  It  was  always  the  case,"  she  said; 
"  not  a  day  passed,  but  changes  were  made  in  that  way  ;  she 
wouldn't  stay,  that  she  wouldn't.  She  never  bargained  for 
master's  interference.  It  was  worse  here  than  in  London  ; 
she  thought  they  had  come  to  Dene  for  a  quiet  life,  but  little 
enough  quiet  there  was  like  to  be  with  Mr.  Weir  and  Miss 
Milicent.  And  if  what  folks  said  was  true  " — and  then  she 
nodded  her  head  and  winked  her  eyes  to  give  notice  of  some 
great  secret. 

"It  is  no  great  matter  to  us  what  folks  say,  that  I  can 
see,"  replied  Jane  ;  "  as  long  as  our  wages  are  paid.  I  don't 
see  what  is  to  trouble  us,  unless  it  might  be  Miss  Milicent, 
and  her  bark  is  always  worse  than  her  bite." 

"  I  could  put  up  with  Miss  Milicent,"  replied  the  cook. 
"  I  would  rather  any  day  be  scolded  than  looked  at.  But  he  ! 
— it's  more  than  mortal  woman  can  bear.  And  to  see  how 
he  treats  his  poor  wife  ;  and  she,  as  they  say,  quite  taken  in 
by  him  at  the  beginning." 

Jane  was  a  prudent  person,  and  I  think,  too,  she  fancied 
Mrs.  Mason  was  coming,  for  I  saw  her  point  to  me ;  and 
Cook  took  the  hint  and  was  silent.  But  I  had  heard  enough 
to  keep  me  from  taking  any  fancy  to  Mr.  Weir,  even  if  I  had 
been  so  inclined. 

Roger  waited  in  the  drawing-room  for  a  long  time,  and 


U  K  S  U  L  A  .  47 

when  he  came  out  he  said  we  could  not  go  to  Sandcombe 
yet,  he  must  have  a  word  with  Mr.  Weir  first.  I  saw  he 
was  rather  put  out,  but  I  never  ventured  to  ask  him  any 
questions  about  other  persons'  business.  So  he  went  to  find 
Mr.  Weir,  and  I  returned  to  the  cottage,  as  he  told  me,  to 
wait  till  he  was  ready.  It  was  half-past  four  before  we  set 
off;  and  I  thought  even  then  we  should  have  had  something 
to  hinder  us ;  for  when  we  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  by  the 
plantation,  and  were  going  out  upon  the  down,  Roger  looked 
back  and  said  he  heard  carriage-wheels  ;  a  person  he  wished 
much  to  see  must  be  arrived,  but  he  had  not  expected  him 
so  soon. 

"  You  won't  stop  now,  Roger,"  I  said ;  and  I  tried  to 
di'aw  him  on.  But  in  vain  ;  he  would  stay  to  listen ;  and  we 
heard  the  carriage  drive  up  to  the  house  ;  and  almost  directly 
afterwards,  the  footman  came  panting  up  the  hill  to  beg  jMr. 
Grant  to  go  back,  just  for  a  few  minutes. 

It  was  so  vexatious  !  I  said  to  Roger,  that  we  had  much 
better  leave  Sandcombe  till  another  day;  they  would  have 
finished  tea  before  we  got  there.  And  he  was  half  inclined 
to  agree  with  me,  only  he  did  not  like  to  disappoint  William. 
Down  he  ran  again;  and  I  went  inside  the  little  wicket-gate, 
opening  upon  the  upper  seat  in  the  garden,  and  there  I  seated 
myself  to  wait  for  him. 

So  still  and  quiet  it  all  seemed — so  far  away  from  any 
vexing  care.  I  felt  that  if  people  would  only  let  me  live 
there  undisturbed  with  Roger,  I  should  have  nothing  else  to 
desire.  Now  there  were  always  interruptions ;  Roger  was 
ordered  about,  and  people  found  fault  with  him.  I  did  not 
think  it  could  be  so  always.  And  then  I  went  off"  into  a 
dream  of  what  might  happen  by  and  by,  of  a  time  when  he 
was  to  be  master  and  I  was  to  wait  upon  him.  I  never  really 
thought  I  should  leave  Dene,  I  was  too  happy  there  ;  and  yet 
I  had  a  notion  that  Roger  and  I  were  one  day  to  have  a 
farm  together,  when  he  was  to  trust,  and  consult  me,  and  let 
me  help  him  in  everything.  For  I  was  to  be  first  in  all 
ways  ;  others  were  to  respect  and  look  up  to  Roger,  but  no 
one  was  to  love  him  like  me.  I  did  not  think  that  at  all  a 
selfish  notion  ;  I  was  sure  I  could  make  him  so  happy.  My 
fancies  were  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  voices  at  the  foot  of 


48  URSULA. 

the  little  rough  flight  of  steps,  which  led  from  the  garden  to 
the  upper  seat.  A  few  moments  afterwards  Mr.  Weir  made 
his  way  through  the  shrubs,  followed  by  Roger  and  a  man, 
whom  I  guessed  directly  to  be  the  stranger  just  announced. 
I  was  not  inclined  to  run  away ;  my  impulse  almost  always 
was  to  turn  and  face  Mr.  Weir,  as  I  might  a  bull,  to  show 
that  I  did  not  care  for  him.  I  had  a  kind  of  notion  that  he 
was  born  to  be  every  one's  enemy,  and  that  I  was  to  rise  up 
in  defence ;  so  I  remained  in  my  place,  only  standing,  because 
I  had  always  been  taught  to  be  respectful.  But  Mr.  Weir 
took  no  notice  of  my  being  there,  which  was  very  provoking. 
I  thought  I  would  have  answered  him  so  boldly,  if  he  had 
asked  what  business  I  had  at  the  upper  seat.  He  seemed  to 
be  full  of  business ;  he  did  not  even  stop  to  take  breath, 
though  he  had  come  up  the  steps  very  fast,  but  he  went  on 
talking,  and  pointing  to  the  down,  and  saying  something 
about  rent,  and  value  of  land ;  and  then  William's  name  was 
mentioned,  and  I  saw  Roger's  face  change.  I  doubt  whether 
any  one  would  have  noticed  it  except  myself,  but  I  knew 
every  turn  of  his  likings  and  dislikings  always.  Mr.  Weir 
gave  no  time  for  an  answer  for  some  seconds ;  but  when  he 
stopped  at  last,  the  strange  man  replied.  Mr.  Weir  turned 
sharply  round  directly,  and  listened  with  his  head  bent  for- 
ward, and  his  nose  looking  exactly  as  if  it  was  watching  for 
what  was  coming.  What  made  people  call  it  handsome,  I 
can't  think.  His  face  was  that  of  a  bird  of  prey ;  not  an 
eagle — it  was  not  noble  enough  for  that — but  some  that  I 
have  read  of. 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  give  my  opinion  in  a  hurry,  sir," 
were  the  first  words  I  heard  the  stranger  say ;  and  his  voice 
had  such  a  pleasant  sound,  that  I  looked  up  at  him  with  quite 
a  new  feeling. 

He  might  have  been  three  or  four  years  younger  than 
Roger.  His  face  was  not  one  which  showed  age ;  the  com- 
plexion was  so  clear  and  ruddy,  and  the  eye  so  bright  and 
laughing.  He  was  not  a  gentleman ;  at  least,  he  had  not  the 
same  kind  of  manner  as  Mr.  Weir;  his  clothes  were  of  a 
different  make,  and  his  words  came  out  quickly  and  more 
harshly.  But  he  was  more  up  in  the  world,  I  should  have 
said,  than  Roger ;  probably  he  had  had  a  better  education 


URSULA.  49 

and  seen  more  of  things  and  people.  I  could  perceive  that 
he  was  not  at  all  cowed  by  Mr.  Weir,  which  made  me  like 
him  directly;  and  the  way  in  which  he  glanced  at  Roger 
gave  me  a  notion  that  he  knew  what  he  was  worth.  I  don't 
think,  indeed,  either  of  them  could  have  looked  at  each  other 
and  doubted,  for  two  honester  faces  I  never  saw. 

"  Perhaps,  sir,"  said  Roger,  speaking  to  Mr.  Weir,  "  Mr. 
Hervey  and  I  had  better  walk  over  the  hill  together,  and 
then  we  can  talk  over  matters." 

Mr.  Weir  seemed  only  half  pleased.  I  was  terribly 
afraid  he  would  offer  to  come  too  ;  but  he  had  not  much  of  an 
excuse  for  that,  whatever  his  wish  might  have  been  ;  so  he 
just  said,  in  an  off-hand  way,  "  Well,  well,  if  you  like  it. 
Let  me  see  you  again,  Hervey,  when  you  come  back  ;  "  and 
then  he  turned  off  and  went  down  the  steps. 

"  Now,  Trot,  run  on  before  us,"  said  Roger,  opening 
the  gate  upon  the  down.  I  would  rather  have  remained 
close  to  him,  but  I  always  obeyed  him,  and  I  kept  at  a  dis- 
tance in  front,  looking  for  foxgloves — which  I  could  not  find, 
it  was  so  late  in  the  season — and  every  now  and  then  making 
myself  a  little  bed  amongst  the  fern,  till  Roger  came  up, 
when  I  ran  on  again.  At  the  top  of  the  hill,  near  where  the 
paths  branch  off  on  one  side  to  Compton,  and  on  the  other  to 
Sandcombe,  Mr.  Hervey  and  Roger  stopped.  Roger  pointed 
to  Compton ;  "  The  best  part  of  the  property  lies  down  there," 
he  said. 

"It  looks  compact,"  observed  Mr.  Hervey.  "It  is  a 
thousand  pities  to  cut  it  up ;  but  I  suppose  where  a  lady  has 
a  fancy,  there  is  nothing  else  to  be  done." 

Roger  said  not  a  word  in  reply. 

"  She  must  have  had  a  good  property  of  her  own,"  said 
Mr.  Hervey. 

"  Dene,  and  the  Abbey  Farm,  and  some  more  land  out 
by  Hove  ;  a  good  fifteen  hundred  a-year  altogether,"  replied 
Roger. 

"  And  all  to  be  sold  !  Well,  it  is  a  fortunate  thing  we 
have  only  our  business  to  do,  Mr.  Grant,  and  needn't  trouble 
ourselves  with  anything  beyond." 

Roger  hesitated ;  he  seemed  to  be  considering  what  he 
might  say.     At  length  it  came  out  hastily,   "  Mrs.  Weir 

Vol.  1—3 


60  U  B  S  U  L  A  . 

would  rather  it  should  be  mortgaged  than  sold.  That  is  be- 
tween ourselves." 

«  Oh  !  " It  was  a  very  long  "  oh,"  which  must  have 

signified  a  good  deal.  Mr.  Hervey's  open  face  became  grave, 
and  he  added,  "  So  there  are  two  minds.     I  guessed  that." 

"And  I  don't  think  he  can  sell  it,"  continued  Roger. 
"I  don't  think  the  trustees  would  let  him  do  it." 

"  Fortunate  that,  perhaps,"  was  the  answer.  "  Well,  at 
all  events,  we  will  go  over  the  property  to-morrow,  Mr. 
Grant ;  nothing  preventing." 

They  shook  hands  heartily.  Mr.  Hervey  went  back  to 
Dene,  and  I  caught  hold  of  Roger's  hand,  and  asked  him 
what  mortgaging  and  trustees  meant. 

"  What  I  hope  you  will  never  be  troubled  with.  Trot. 
Now  let  us  have  a  run  down  the  lane,  or  they  will  have  done 
tea  before  we  get  there."  He  lifted  me  over  the  gate  into 
the  lane,  and  followed  almost  before  I  could  turn  to  see  if  he 
was  coming,  and  then  we  had  a  race,  in  spite  of  the  rough 
stones,  to  the  entrance  of  the  farm-yard. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Roger  was  right ;  we  were  nearly  late  for  tea.  The  maid 
was  carrying  the  urn  into  the  large  parlour  just  as  we 
arrived.  I  felt  bound  to  be  on  my  best  behaviour  the  mo- 
ment we  were  shown  into  the  room,  for  this  parlour  was  never 
used  except  on  special  occasions.  It  was  a  very  good-sized 
room,  but  not  in  general  very  cheerful-looking.  The  walls 
were  a  pale  greyish  blue  ;  a  few  prints  in  black  frames  were 
hung  against  them,  and  there  was  a  looking-glass  in  a  carved 
oak  frame  over  the  mantelpiece.  On  one  side  of  the  fire- 
place was  a  book-case,  with  glass  doors,  and  on  the  other  an 
old  cracked  spinet.  A  mahogany  dining-room  table,  covered 
with  a  red  cloth,  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  large 
black  horse-hair  chairs  were  ranged  in  a  very  orderly  way 
against  the  wall.  Besides,  there  was  a  great  arm-chair,  and 
a  foot-stool  worked  in  cross-stitch  in  green  and  red,  and  a 
screen  with  a  green  parrot  upon  it,  which  had  always  been  a 


URSULA.  51 

great  delight  to  me.  I  don't  recollect  anything  else.  We 
never  used  the  room  except  for  a  party. 

William  had  certainly  done  his  best  to  make  it  look 
comfortable  this  eveniug.  The  table  was  spread  for  tea,  with 
the  best  china  tea-service,  and  a  large  trencher  with  loaves  of 
brown  and  white  home-made  bread  upon  it ;  and  there  was  a 
ham  at  the  bottom  of  the  table,  and  two  pots  of  marmalade, 
and  honey ;  and  the  butter  was  put  out  in  a  glass  dish,  which 
had  been  a  wedding  present  to  my  mother  ;  and  in  the  centre 
there  was  a  gay  cup  filled  with  dahlias  and  china-asters.  A 
person  might  have  been  very  willing  to  say  "  Yes,"  when 
asked  to  become  the  mistress  of  such  a  comfortable  house  as 
William's ;  that  is,  if  comfort  only  was  to  be  considered. 

Mrs.  Morris,  and  Leah,  and  her  brother  Charles,  were 
standing  up  by  the  window  when  we  came  in.  William  was 
pointing  out  something  in  the  garden.  He  looked  round 
rather  awkwardly  as  the  door  opened;  but  he  welcomed 
Roger  heartily,  and  kissed  me,  saying  he  had  nearly  given  us 
up ;  and  then  he  pushed  me  a  few  steps  forward  to  where 
Leah  was  standing,  and  said,  "  Ursie  must  be  grown  out  of 
your  knowledge,  Leah.  How  long  is  it  since  you  have  seen 
her  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know ;  two  years  nearly,  I  should  think. 
To  be  sure,  she  is  grown;  she  is  getting  quite  a  great  girl." 
I  could  feel  Leah's  eye  surveying  me  from  head  to  foot, 
though  just  for  the  first  moment  I  had  a  shy  fit,  and  could 
not  look  at  her :  shyness,  however,  was  not  much  in  my  way, 
except  when  I  had  a  great  respect  for  people ;  and  by  the 
time  she  had  taken  in  everything  belonging  to  me,  from  the 
ribbon  on  my  bonnet  to  the  thickness  of  my  walking-boots, 
I  was  able  to  confront  her  in  return.  People  said  she  was 
handsome,  with  her  black  curls,  and  high  colour,  and  flash- 
ing eyes ;  if  she  was,  I  would  rather  have  looked  upon 
something  ugly.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  anything  like 
softness,  either  in  her  face,  or  her  voice,  or  her  manner,  or 
anything  about  her.  She  was  not  ill-tempered  looking ;  but 
one  saw  she  could  be  in  a  passion  if  she  chose ;  and  it  was 
quite  certain  that  if  she  did  choose,  it  would  always  be  about 
something  that  concerned  herself.  That  day  she  did  seem  so 
entirely  well  pleased  with  herself !     And,  perhaps,  she  had 


52  URSULA. 

reason  to  be.  There  she  was,  conscious  of  a  fine  face  and  a 
fortune  of  two  thousand  pounds,  and  a  good  deal  more  to 
come,  dressed  out  in  a  bright  blue  silk  dress, — what  is 
called  a  Waterloo  blue, — and  a  fancy  straw-bonnet,  and  a 
smart  shawl,  and  come  to  visit  her  husband  that  was  to  be, 
and  to  be  made  much  of,  and  to  say  what  she  liked  or  what 
she  did  not  like.  It  was  enough  to  turn  anybody's  head ; 
not  that  it  turned  Leah's,  for  she  was  then  what  she  always 
was ;  neither  more  nor  less  wrapped  up  in  her  own  concerns ; 
only  it  is  so  happened  that  circumstances  made  it  appear  as 
though  she  was. 

We  sat  down  to  tea ;  Mrs.  Morris  poured  it  out,  and 
Leah  sat  next  to  William,  and  made  me  come  on  the  other 
side.  She  petted  me  all  tea-time,  offering  me  bread-and- 
butter  and  cake.  No  doubt  she  meant  it  well ;  but  I  could 
not  help  feeling  that,  although  I  was  a  little  girl,  I  had  just 
as  much  right  in  my  brother's  house  to  take  what  I  liked  as 
she  had,  and  more  too,  perhaps,  for  she  was  not  his  wife  yet. 
There  was  no  lack  of  conversation.  Leah  was  not  a  great 
talker,  but  her  mother  was ;  and  we  had  all  the  gossip  of 
the  neighbourhood  told  us.  Even  when  Roger  and  Charles 
Morris  began  saying  something  about  farming,  Mrs.  Morris 
broke  in  in  the  middle  with  a  question  to  Roger. 

"  So,  Mr.  Roger,  you've  got  very  comfortable  quarters,  I 
suppose,  up  at  Dene  ?  " 

"  Very,"  was  Roger's  short  reply. 

"  And  all  the  family  there  now,  I  hear  ;  or  at  least,  all 
coming  soon.     The  bride,  Mrs.  Temple,  and  her  husband  are 
expected  next  week,  they  say." 
"  I  have  not  heard." 

"  Isn't  that  capital  now  ?  "  and  Mrs.  Morris  turned  her 
broad  good-humoured  face  to  William.  "  Your  brother  is 
as  close  as  a  locked  pantry  ; — as  if  he  didn't  know  everything 
about  the  Weirs,  if  he  chose  to  say  it !  " 

Leah  took  up  her  mother  shortly.  "  You  won't  make 
him  tell  by  asking  questions,  mother.  You'll  only  provoke 
him  to  shut  up  more." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  shut  up  about,  that  I  am  aware  of," 
said  Roger.  "  If  I  knew  Mrs.  Temple  was  coming,  I  would 
say  so  ;  but  I  don't." 


URSULA,  53 

"  Ah,  well !  then  they're  wise  in  keeping  their  business  to 
themselves,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  nodding  her  head  meaningly. 
"  But  folks  outside  Dene  are  not  quite  so  careful,  Mr. 
Roger ;  and  they  say, — I  wouldn't  for  the  world  tell  it  for 
truth, — that  Mr.  Temple  is  not  satisfied  about  his  wife's 
fortune,  and  is  coming  to  see  her  uncle  about  it ;  and  I  have 
heard  that  Mr.  Weir  will  have  to  sell  part  of  the  Dene 
estate  :  not  that  I  can  understand  myself  what  business  he 
has  with  it,  for  it  is  all  Mrs.  Weir's,  settled  upon  her  strictly, 
— so  Mr.  Dillon  the  lawyer  told  Charles,  when  ho  saw  him 
in  Hove  last  week." 

"  She  won't  be  a  wise  woman  if  she  gives  it  up  for  any 
of  her  husband's  claims,"  said  Leah. 

"  That  is  what  you  think,  is  it?  "  said  William,  laughing. 
"  I  sui^pose  that  is  to  teach  me  what  I  may  expect ;  but  I 
am  not  to  be  daunted.  Do  you  think  there  is  any  cause, 
Mrs.  Morris  ?  Will  Leah  stand  aloof  and  say  she  won't 
help  at  a  pinch  ?  " 

"  Leah  is  a  good,  sensible  girl,  and  you  are  not  like  Mr. 
Weir,"  replied  Mrs.  Morris.  "  If  you  were,  you  might  beg 
pretty  long  before  her  father  and  I  would  give  her  to  you. 
Why,  it's  all  the  talk  in  Staffordshire,  what  a  cat-and-dog 
life  they  lead.  Down  here  there  is  not  so  much  known 
about  them." 

"  I  suppose  when  I  turn  dog,  I  may  expect  you  to  turn 
cat,  Leah  ?  "  said  William. 

"  Something  like  it,"  replied  Leah,  a  little  quickly.  I 
don't  think  she  fancied  William's  always  bringing  it  forward 
in  this  way,  that  she  was  going  to  be  married,  and  that  he 
was  to  be  her  master. 

"  It's  no  wonder  when  they  married  as  they  did,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Morris.  "  She,  just  out  of  the  school-room,  and 
a  second  wife.  I  heard  all  about  it  the  other  day,  from  the 
Kemps  of  Longside.  They  are  cousins  of  the  Herveys  in 
Stafibrdshirc ;  and  John  Hervey  is  a  land  surveyor,  and 
has  had  a  good  deal  of  business  with  Mr.  Weir,  or  at  least 
his  father  had  for  years.  Poor  man,  he  died  of  low  fever 
about  this  time  twelve  months  ago ;  since  then  there  have 
been  changes  in  the  business,  and  I  hear  John  is  likely  to 
settle  in  this  neighbourhood,  close  to  the  Kemps." 


54  U  E  S  U  L  A  . 

"  Is  that  the  Mr.  Hervey  that  came  over  the  hill  with  ua, 
Roger  ?  "  I  asked ;  for  I  had  been  taking  in  eagerly  all  that 
was  said. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  was  his  short  answer ;  and  he  pushed  his 
tea-cup  to  Mrs.  Morris,  and  asked  for  another  cup  of  tea. 

"  Oh !  John  Hervey  is  here,  is  he  ? "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Morris.  "  That  makes  it  all  clear; — you  know,  Charles,  we 
heard  he  was  coming.  Of  course,  then,  it  is  quite  true  about 
the  sale  of  the  property."  She  addressed  herself  to  Roger, 
but  received  no  answer. 

William  had  no  dislike  to  gossip,  so  he  brought  her  back 
to  the  point  she  had  started  from.  "  Well,  but,  Mrs.  Morris, 
you  have  not  told  me  the  interesting  part  about  the  marriage. 
You  know  it's  fitting  Leah  and  I  should  hear,  that  we  may 
take  warning  in  time."  He  looked  kindly  at  Leah,  but  she 
only  smiled  haughtily  in  return,  and  when  he  tried  to  give 
her  hand  a  little  friendly  pat,  she  managed  to  draw  it  away, 
so  that  his  fingers  came  down  upon  the  table  instead. 

"  The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,"  continued  Mrs.  Morris, 
"  that  Mr.  Weir  spends  money  faster  than  he  can  get  it,  and 
has  done  so  from  a  boy.  He  had  as  fine  a  property  as  a  man 
might  wish  to  have,  some  six  thousand  a  year  when  he  came 
of  age ;  but  he  ran  through  nearly  all  of  it,  and  then  married 
a  Miss  Le  Fevre,  a  Staffordshire  heiress.  I  suspect  there 
was  some  disappointment  in  that  quarter  about  money  mat- 
ters. She  had  less  than  he  expected,  people  said ;  and  the 
very  year  after  her  death,  he  married  Miss  Mayne,  that  is 
the  present  Mrs.  Weir,  who  has  a  fortune  likewise." 

"  He  has  been  a  lucky  man,"  said  William.  "  Two  rich 
wives ! — it's  more  than  he  deserves." 

"  A  good  deal  more,"  continued  Mrs.  Morris.  "  As  to 
his  first  wife,  he  might  have  done  very  well  with  her ;  I 
never  heard  anything  about  her,  but  this  poor  thing  has  a 
hard  life  of  it." 

"  She  is  very  strange,  mother,  if  Jane  Shaw  says  true," 
said  Charles  Morris. 

"  Strange  or  not,  he  is  enough  to  make  her  strange,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Morris ;  "  always  thwarting  and  taunting  her,  and 
she  so  ill  always  !  " 

"  That  is  what  provokes  him,  I  have  heard,"  remarked 


URSULA.  55 

Leah,  "  He  can't  bear  anybody  to  bo  ill,  because  of  the 
trouble  it  gives."  She  cast  her  eyes  complacently  over  her 
own  substantial  figure,  and  I  suppose  it  crossed  her  mind 
that  she  was  not  likely  to  make  William  angry  from  a  like 
cause. 

"  Mr.  Roger  could  tell  us  more  about  that  than  any  one 
else,  I  suspect,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  "  only  he  is  so  prudent." 

"  I  have  seen  Mrs.  Weir,"  I  exclaimed,  proud  of  my 
superior  knowledge ;  "  and  she  sits  in  a  great  arm-chair,  and 
looks  as  if  she  was  very  ill  indeed." 

"  Oh !  you  are  allowed  to  see  her,  are  you  ?  "  was  the 
general  exclamation,  and  all  eyes  were  directed  towards  me. 
"  Is  she  so  very  small  as  they  say  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  she  is  above  a  head  taller  than  I  am,"  I 
replied ;  "  but  she  was  curled  up  in  the  chair  so,  I  can't 
quite  tell." 

A  general  laugh  followed,  even  Roger  joined  in  it ;  but 
he  added,  as  if  to  give  me  warning,  "  It's  no  use  for  you  to 
try  and  tell  anything  about  Mrs.  Weir,  Trot.  What  should 
such  a  child  as  you  know  ?  " 

"  But  I  can  tell  about  her,"  I  continued ;  "  I  have  looked 
at  her  a  great  deal ;  and  I  know  what  Mr.  Weir  said, — that 
he  shouldn't  encourage  anybody  to  marry." 

"  Because  of  what  I  had  been  asking,  I  suppose,"  said 
William.  "  I  had  been  talking  to  him,  and  telling  him  I 
was  likely  to  have  hard  times  coming,  and  so  I  hoped  he 
would  be  merciful  about  the  land  I  rent  of  him." 

"  And  what  did  Mrs.  Weir  say  to  him,  Ursie  ?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Morris. 

"  She  did  not  say  anything,"  I  replied ;  "  only  she  told 
Mrs.  Mason  to  take  me  away." 

"  He  interferes  with  her  always,  I  have  heard,"  continued 
Mrs.  Morris.  "  She  never  takes  a  fancy  to  anything,  but 
what  he  steps  in  and  spoils  her  pleasure.  It  seems,  indeed, 
as  if  he  had  a  spite  against  women,  for  he  is  never  pleasant 
to  them." 

"  A  second  wife  ought  to  have  known  better  than  to  bo 
taken  in  by  him,"  observed  Leah. 

"  She  should  have  asked  him  to  drink  tea,"  said  William ; 
"  that  would  have  been  the  right  thing." 


56  URSULA. 

"  Mrs.  Weir  has  not  too  much  -wisdom  of  any  kind,  as 
far  as  I  can  learn,"  replied  Mrs.  Morris.  "  I  have  been  told 
she  is  next  door  to  an  idiot." 

I  started  from  my  seat.  "  Mrs.  Weir  an  idiot !  She 
was  no  more  an  idiot  than  I  was  !  She  had  been  very  kind 
to  me ;  she  had  given  me  some  cake  and  some  ginger-wine. 
I  couldn't  bear  such  things  said  of  her." 

"  Silence.  Ursie  !  '  Little  girls  should  be  seen  and  not 
heard ; ' "  and  Roger  laid  his  hand  heavily  on  my  shoulder. 
"  I  don't  think  any  one  who  knows  Mrs.  Weir  can  call  her 
an  idiot,"  he  continued ;  "  she  is  as  clever  a  woman  of  busi- 
ness as  any  one  might  wish  to  talk  to." 

"  Oh !  you  are  in  her  confidence,  I  perceive,"  observed 
Mrs.  Morris ;  "  no  wonder  we  are  so  careful.  But  you 
mustn't  be  angry,  Mr.  Eoger.  I  only  say  what  the  world 
does ;  and  it  is  certain  she  is  kept  like  a  doll,  M'aited  upon 
from  morning  till  night,  as  if  she  was  not  able  to  take  care 
of  herself,  and  pleased  with  pretty  things  set  about  her,  as  a 
child  might  be.  I  know  that  from  our  cook,  who  was  kitch- 
en-maid at  Dene  last  year.  She  said  Mrs.  Weir  was  a  mere 
nobody,  and  that  Miss  Milicent  gave  all  the  orders." 

"  Miss  Milicent  is  likely  to  do  that,  whether  she  has  to 
deal  with  idiots  or  sensible  women,  I  suspect,"  observed 
Charles  Morris ;  "  she  would  rule  a  regiment.  But  how 
could  such  a  woman  have  a  mother  like  Mrs.  Weir  ?  " 

"  How  could  Mrs.  Weir  have  a  daughter  like  Miss  Mili- 
cent? you  mean,'^'  said  Leah.  "  But  there  is  no  rule  that  I 
ever  knew,  why  mothers  and  daughters  should  be  alike." 
She  made  a  little  movement  as  she  spoke,  which  showed  that 
she  had  finished  her  own  tea,  and  expected  every  one  else  to 
finish  theirs.  William  drank  up  what  was  left  in  his  cup, 
and  never  asked  for  more ;  and  Leah,  without  saying  any- 
thing to  her  mother,  rose  from  the  table. 

5lrs.  Morris  laughed  good-naturedly,  and  said  they  were 
leaving  her  in  the  lurch,  and  they  ought  to  remember  that 
she  had  been  making  tea  for  them  all ;  but  Leah  was  not  to 
be  put  out  of  her  way,  and  she  went  off  with  William,  say- 
ing that  she  wanted  to  go  over  the  house. 

Mrs.  Morris  motioned  to  me  to  come  and  sit  near  her,  to 
keep  her  company,  but  Roger  made  an  excuse  for  me.     He 


URSULA.  57 

had  promised  William,  he  said,  to  look  at  some  fences  which 
had  been  put  up  round  the  yard.  He  should  like  me  to  go 
with  him,  and  then  I  could  see  the  pigs  and  the  new  calf. 
There  would  not  be  time  else,  as  it  was  growing  late. 

Mrs.  Morris  was  only  half  pleased  with  the  arrangement, 
I  could  see ;  neither  was  I,  for  I  felt,  from  Roger's  manner, 
that  he  was  dissatisfied  with  me.  The  moment  we  were  out 
of  the  house,  he  said,  "  You  are  a  chatterbox,  Ursie.  That 
won't  do  if  you  are  to  live  with  me.  What  is  said  and  done 
at  Dene  is  never  to  be  talked  of  outside  the  gates.  It  is  a 
rule  you  will  have  to  remember  all  your  life,  that  when  you 
live  with  a  family,  you  are  no  more  to  talk  about  their 
concerns,  than  you  would  about  your  own.     It  isn't  honest." 

"  Mrs.  Morris  talked ;  I  didn't,"  I  exclaimed ;  "  and  I 
said  nothing  but  what  was  true." 

"  That  is  no  matter,"  continued  Roger;  "  once  for  all  I 
say  that,  if  you  are  to  live  with  me,  you  are  not  to  repeat 
anything  you  hear.  There  is  often  more  mischief  in  repeat- 
ing than  in  doing :  and  I  hate  a  gossip." 

Roger  only  intended  to  give  me  a  caution  to  be  used 
generally ;  but  he  could  not  prevent  my  feeling  there  was 
something  of  a  mystery  about  Dene. 

I  went  with  him  to  the  yard  to  look  at  the  fences,  and 
then  fed  the  pigs,  and  paid  a  visit  to  the  calf;  but  all  the 
time  I  was  not  happy.  When  we  were  going  into  the  house 
again,  I  stopped  him,  and  said,  "  Roger,  you  are  not  angry 
with  me  ?     I  am  so  sorry." 

He  caught  me  up  in  his  great  arms,  and  gave  me  such  a 
hug  ! — it  was  like  being  in  a  bear's  grasp.  One  had  only  to 
say  one  was  sorry ;  and  forgiveness  was  ready  directly. 

Leah  had  her  things  on  ready  to  go  when  we  went  back 
to  the  parlour.  Charles  Morris  had  been  sent  to  order  the 
pony-chaise ;  for  they  had  driven  over,  though  it  was  noth- 
ing of  a  walk  for  a  strong  woman  like  Leah.  She,  and  Wil- 
liam, and  Mrs.  Morris,  were  deep  in  consultation ;  and  di- 
rectly I  came  in,  Leah  took  hold  of  me  as  though  she  had  a 
kind  of  right  to  me,  and  said,  "  It  won't  be  so  long  now, 
Ursie,  before  you  and  I  may  see  more  of  each  other." 

"  Only  three  weeks,"  said  William ;  "  what  do  you  say, 
Ursie,  to  have  a  new  sister  in  three  weeks'  time  ?  " 

Vol.  1—3* 


58  URSULA. 

"  I  have  done  very  well  without  one,"  was  my  answer. 
It  made  me  angry  that  they  should  all  take  it  go  for  granted 
that  I  was  to  be  pleased. 

William  laughed  awkwardly ;  but  Leah  answered,  "  You 
will  learn  to  do  better  with  one  soon ;  "  and  then  she  walked 
away  to  the  glass  to  arrange  her  black  curls. 

I  had  managed  to  put  all  the  party  out  by  my  pert  speech, 
and  no  wonder ;  Roger  especially  was  vexed,  and  made  me 
beg  Leah's  pardon,  which  I  did,  I  fear,  with  a  bad  grace. 
William  said,  when  Mrs.  Morris  and  the  others  were  gone, 
that  I  was  getting  beyond  Roger,  and  he  was  sure  I  was  not 
kept  strictly  enough.  It  was  a  good  thing  for  me,  he  added, 
that  Leah  was  coming  into  the  family,  for  there  would  be 
some  one  then  to  keep  me  in  order.  He  could  not  help 
thinking,  indeed,  that  it  might  be  well  if  the  plan  that  had 
been  first  talked  about  could  be  carried  out,  and  if  I  were  to 
come  and  live  at  Sandcombe  entirely.  Of  course  that  would 
require  some  arrangement  about  expense ;  but  no  doubt 
Roger  would  be  willing  to  take  his  share,  as  he  had  no  claims 
of  his  own. 

I  suppose  William  forgot  that  Roger  took  all  the  expense 
at  that  time ;  and  that  the  claims,  as  he  called  them,  were 
only  such  as  he  had  made  to  please  himself.  Strange  to  say,  I 
was  not  frightened  at  the  proposal,  I  was  so  certain  that 
Roger  would  never  consent  to  it.  I  only  held  his  hand  more 
tightly,  and  squeezed  it  very  hard  when  he  said,  he  was  afraid 
that  Trot  did  require  a  strict  hand  over  her ;  but  she  had 
been  much  better  since  she  went  to  school ;  and  as  to  parting 
with  her,  he  would  as  soon  think  of  parting  with  his  right 
eye ;  many  thanks  to  William,  though,  for  proposing  it. 

No :  I  might  have  many  trials  in  store  for  me  in  life, 
but  a  home  with  Leah  Morris  I  felt  certain  was  not  to  be 
one. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

Three  weeks  after  that,  William  and  Leah  Morris  wero 
husband  and  wife.  They  were  married  at  Hatton  Church, 
and  a  grand  day  was  made  on  the  occasion.      A  party  of 


URSULA.  59 

five-and-twenty  went  to  church — most  of  them  Leah's  rela- 
tions— for  we  had  scarcely  any  living  near  enough  to  be 
asked ;  and  there  were  six  bridesmaids  dressed  in  blue  gauze 
and  white  bonnets  ;  and  Leah  herself  in  a  figured  lilac  silk, 
with  flounces  which  stood  out  like  a  hoop,  and  a  pink  bon- 
net. I  was  one  of  the  bridesmaids,  the  youngest,  and  so 
made  much  of;  and  I  almost  forgave  Leah  for  becoming  my 
sister-in-law,  when  I  found  myself  in  such  a  grand  position. 
The  day  was  fine,  and  everything  went  off  well.  Leah  was 
a  capital  manager — much  better  than  Miss  Milicent,  for  she 
never  talked  about  what  she  did.  Mrs.  Morris  took  care  of 
the  eatmg,  and  Mr.  Morris  provided  some  wonderfully  strong 
ale,  and  saw  that  there  was  plenty  of  wine  for  those  who 
liked  it,  and  spirits  for  any  who  had  a  fancy  for  something 
more  powerful.  But  Leah  was  the  pei'son  who  kept  every- 
thing going ;  at  least,  as  long  as  she  was  there.  She  was 
not  at  all  shy,  and,  what  was  more  to  her  praise,  she  did  not 
pretend  to  be  ;  so  she  talked  to  one  and  the  other,  and  told 
them  where  they  were  to  sit,  and  what  they  were  to  do ;  and 
even  helped  to  marshal  them'  round  the  breakfast-table  after 
they  came  back  from  church.  She  could  put  her  hand  to 
anything;  and  William  looked  on  as  pleased  as  possible, 
feeling,  I  am  sure,  that  he  had  made  a  capital  bargain  in 
marrying  such  a  good  manager. 

Roger  was  very  merry,  too ;  and  as  for  me,  I  laughed 
and  talked  with  every  one ;  especially  I  made  acquaintance 
with  some  of  the  Shaws,  of  White  Hill.  Jane  Shaw  was 
but  two  years  older  than  myself,  and  being  the  only  two 
children  who  were  bridesmaids,  we  were  put  together  at 
breakfast ;  and  Jane  told  me  all  about  her  home,  and  how 
they  kept  a  phaeton,  and  had  a  beautiful  best  parlour,  with 
pictures  in  it,  and  wax  flowers  under  a  glass-case  ;  and  then 
she  made  me  look  at  her  pocket-handkerchief,  and  admire  the 
pretty  lace  round  it ;  and  showed  me  a  bracelet  of  large 
white  beads,  (Roman  pearls  she  called  them,)  and  a  gold 
brooch,  which  her  mother  had  given  her  to  wear.  She  talked 
in  a  very  silly  way,  and  was  so  set  up  that  she  made  me 
boast  in  my  turn,  and  I  forgot  what  Roger  had  said  about 
not  gossiping,  and  described  how  beautiful  Dene  was,  and 
bow  I  was  in  the  habit  of  going  to  see  Mrs.  Weir,  and  reading 


60  URSULA, 

to  her.  Jane  Shaw  was  very  curious  like  every  one  else, 
about  Mrs  Weir.  The  only  people  who  could  tell  her  any- 
thing about  her,  she  said,  were  the  Kemps,  of  Longside  ;  and 
they  didn't  know  the  Kemps  now.  She  had  not  spoken  her- 
self to  Mary  Kemp,  though  they  stood  close  together  in 
church. 

"  Is  Mary  Kemp  here  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes;  just  across  the  table,  down  at  the  lower  end; 
don't  you  see  ?  She  was  talking  to  little  Jessie  Lee  just  be- 
fore breakfast.     You  must  know  her." 

"  I  have  played  with  her  sometimes,"  I  replied,  "  but  not 
often  ;  and  I  don't  know  Jessie  Lee." 

"  Not  know  her !  Well,  that  is  to  live  shut  up  !  Why, 
Jessie  is  a  cousin  of  your  own." 

"  A  cousin  of  mine  !  "  I  stared  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  ;  she  is  Leah  Morris's — what  a  shame 
of  me  to  forget ! — she  is  Mrs.  Grrant's  cousin's  child ;  and 
she  is  going  to  live  with  the  Morrises.  She  is  not  much 
more  than  a  baby,  for  she  is  only  five  years  old ;  but  she  has 
been  away  lately,  because  Mrs.  Morris  has  been  to  busy  to 
attend  to  her." 

"  I  saw  Roger  playing  with  a  child,"  I  said ;  "  but  I 
didn't  know  who  it  was  ;  he  always  takes  to  babies." 

"  The  Morrises  make  fuss  enough  about  her,''  continued 
Jane.  "  You  should  see  how  she  comes  to  church,  with  her 
little  round  hat  and  white  feather.  They  will  make  her  quite 
conceited  ;  and  there  is  no  need,  for  she  is  that  already.  She 
is  a  regular  beauty." 

Our  conversation  was  interrupted  just  then,  for  Leah 
stood  up  to  cut  the  cake,  and  there  was  a  great  drinking  of 
healths  and  cheering ;  and  afterwards,  Leah  left  the  table, 
and  Mrs.  Morris  went  with  her  to  pack  up  the  last  things  in 
her  travelling-box,  and  a  few  minutes  afterwards  she  came 
back  to  say  goodbye.  She  and  William  were  to  go,  that 
afternoon,  to  Hartwell,  a  town  about  eight  miles  beyond 
Hove ;  and  the  next  day  they  were  to  proceed  to  London, 
where  they  were  to  spend  a  fortnight  with  an  aunt  of  ours  and 
some  of  Leah's  relations. 

Things  were  a  little  dull  after  she  was  gone,  though 
Charles  Morris  did  get  up  and  make  a  speech,  in  which  he 


URSULA.  61 

said  that  he  hoped  all  the  bridesmaids  would  he  married  be- 
fore that  time  next  year.  Jane  Shaw  and  I  laughed,  be- 
cause it  seemed  such  a  droll  notion  for  us  children,  but  I 
don't  think  any  one  else  did.  I  suppose  they  had  all  heard 
it  too  often,  for  I  believe  the  same  thing  is  always  said  at 
weddings. 

Roger  was  Mrs.  Morris's  right  hand  when  Leah  was 
gone.  It  was  quite  a  new  thmg  to  see  him  come  out  in  that 
way.  He  and  Charles  Morris  did  all  they  could  to  make 
people  merry,  and  as  soon  as  the  breakfast  was  cleared  away 
(it  was  called  a  breakfast,  but  in  truth  it  was  a  dinner),  a 
fiddler,  who  had  been  sent  for,  was  brought  in,  and  we  all 
stood  up  to  dance.  I  was  made  to  begin,  because  I  was 
William's  sister,  and  very  pleasant  I  thought  it  to  be  at  the 
head  of  the  country  dance,  though  I  knew  little  enough  of 
what  I  was  to  do,  and  could  never  remember  whether  I  was 
to  give  my  right  hand  or  my  left  across.  Roger  would  not 
dance  at  first :  he  said  it  was  not  in  his  way,  and  there  were 
plenty  without  him;  but  just  at  the  last,  when  every  one  was 
laughing  at  him,  he  caught  up  little  Jessie  Lee,  and  declared 
she  should  be  his  partner. 

Jessie  was  frightened  at  first,  but  Roger  had  such  a  way 
with  children,  they  never  could  hold  out  against  him;  and 
when  he  had  smoothed  her  little  soft  cheek  with  his  great 
hand,  and  carried  her  in  his  arms  to  the  top  of  the  room,  she 
was  quite  won ;  and  he  managed  to  twist  her  round  wherever 
she  ought  to  go,  and  ran  with  her  down  the  dance  and  up 
again  till  we  were  all  in  fits  of  laughter,  and  Jessie  most  of 
all.  I  don't  remember  much  about  my  partners  :  I  began 
with  Charles  Morris,  and  one  of  Jane  Shaw's  brothers ;  and 
after  that  I  think  I  danced  with  Mr.  Hervey,  for  he  was 
staying  at  Longside,  and  was  going  to  settle  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood ;  so  he  had  been  asked  to  the  wedding,  principally 
to  please  Roger,  who  had  made  gi*cat  friends  with  him.  Al- 
together it  was  a  very  pleasant  day,  and  when  Leah  was  gone 
I  enjoyed  it  heartily ;  but  while  she  was  present  I  fancied 
she  was  watching,  and  would  find  fault  with  me.  We  had  a 
great  supper  at  eight  o'clock,  and  by  ten  every  one  was  gone. 
Roger,  Mr.  Hervey,  and  I,  drove  home  over  the  down,  in 
the  Sandcombe  titled-cart,  which  Roger  had  borrowed  for 


62  URSULA. 

the  purpose.  Mr.  Hervey  was  going  to  sleep  in  our  little 
room  inside  the  kitchen,  for  he  had  business  at  Dene  the  next 
day,  A  beautiful  drive  we  had,  and  when  we  reached  the 
top  of  the  long  lane,  leading  out  of  Hatton,  and  were  on  the 
ridge,  just  under  St.  Anne's,  the  moon  shone  out  quite 
bright,  and  we  could  see  the  white  cliffs  over  the  sea  nearly 
as  clearly  as  if  it  had  been  daylight.  I  wanted  Roger  to 
let  me  climb  to  the  top  of  St.  Anne's,  and  look  at  the  moon- 
light upon  the  water,  but  he  said  it  was  a  great  deal  too 
late,  so  we  only  drove  across  the  down  slowly,  Roger  being 
afraid  of  the  ruts,  and  were  soon  within  the  plantation  gate. 
I  believe  I  had  talked  a  great  deal  more  than  I  ought  all 
the  way,  for  Roger  looked  a  little  grave  when  I  wished  him 
good  night,  and  said,  "  You  have  a  whirligig  head,  Trot,  it's 
well  there  is  not  a  wedding  every  day  to  turn  it."  Mr. 
Hervey  seemed  to  think  him  rather  hard  upon  me.  "  It  is 
a  very  merry  little  head  anyhow,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  know 
who  has  a  right  to  complain  of  it,  Ursie.  Brother  Roger 
would  be  very  dull  without  it." 

That  was  kind  of  Mr.  Hervey,  but  not  so  kind  and 
true  as  Roger's  remark.  My  head  was  like  a  whirligig,  and 
it  was  a  good  thing  that  I  was  not  likely  to  be  put  much  in 
the  way  of  such  excitement  as  I  had  that  day. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

I  MUST  give  but  a  slight  sketch  of  the  events  which  followed 
the  wedding,  and  indeed  of  the  next  few  years.  William 
and  Leah  came  back  to  Sandcombe,  and  Leah  settled  her- 
self down  as  misti-ess  of  the  farm,  and  carried  everything 
with  a  high  hand,  which,  yet,  could  not  be  complained  of,  as 
she  certainly  was  a  good  manager,  looking  so  carefully  into 
everything,  that  no  one  dared  to  cheat  her.  She  used  to 
boast  that  she  had  never  lost  even  an  ounce  of  dripping  from 
the  time  she  first  became  housekeeper.  It  was  not  a  good 
kind  of  training  for  William.  He  was  too  much  inclined  to 
be  close  by  nature,  and  now  that  his  wife  encouraged  him 
in  it  he  was  even  less  open-handed  than  before.     He  was 


URSULA,  63 

hard  upon  his  labourers,  and  grumbled  a  good  deal  if  there 
was  any  talk  of  raising  their  wages.  One  severe  winter, 
however,  there  was  an  outcry  all  round  the  country,  and 
then  Leah  persuaded  him  into  being  more  liberal ;  for  hard 
though  she  was,  she  had  a  great  notion  of  doing  what  the 
gentry  did.  This  was  after  a  public  meeting  about  the  state 
of  the  agricultural  population,  as  it  was  called,  when  Mr. 
Stewart  of  Hatton,  got  up  and  made  a  long  speech,  and  said 
it  was  a  crying  sin  that  the  labourers  should  be  kept  down 
as  they  were.  William  rented  some  land  of  Mr.  Stewart, 
and  was  afraid  to  offend  him,  so  the  labourers  had  a  shilling 
a  week  more  after  that ;  and  Leah  made  a  great  boast  of  it, 
and  declared  they  were  ruining  themselves  to  keep  the  peo- 
ple from  starving.  I  heard  her  say  it  myself  one  day,  when 
she  had  come  over  to  Dene,  on  her  way  to  Longside.  As  I 
saw  her  seat  herself  in  the  little  pony-chaise,  and  wrap  her- 
self up  in  her  great  fur  tippet,  I  could  not  help  thinking 
that  if  the  poor  were  to  wait  till  she  denied  herself  even  one 
luxury  for  them,  they  were  likely  to  die  of  want. 

Yet  Leah  and  I  were  apparently  very  good  friends.  She 
was  quick  enough  in  understanding,  and  I  think  she  soon 
saw  that  I  was  not  to  be  put  upon,  though  I  was  a  child,  and 
that  Roger  would  not  allow  it.  The  only  way  in  which  she 
showed  she  did  not  like  me  was,  by  the  difference  of  her 
manner  to  me  and  Jessie  Lee.  Jessie  was  very  often  stay- 
ing with  her, — it  brightened  her  up, — for  Sandcombe  was  a 
lonely  place,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  prospect  of  any 
children  to  make  it  merry.  I  don't  think  either  Leah  or 
William  cared  much  about  this,  for  children  would  have  been 
an  expense  and  a  trouble,  and  they  were  not  naturally  fond 
of  them  :  but  still,  in  the  winter  time,  Leah  liked  to  have 
some  one  about  when  William  was  busy,  and  so  she  often 
persuaded  her  mother  to  send  Jessie  over  to  her.  It  used 
to  provoke  me,  I  must  confess,  when  I  heard  her  say,  drawing 
up  her  head  and  shaking  her  curls,  "  I  have  just  sent  for 
poor  little  Jessie ;  it  will  be  a  help  to  mother  to  be  rid  of 
her  for  a  while,  and  we  mustn't  grudge  the  expense."  I  knew 
well  enough  that,  when  Jessie  was  away,  Mrs.  Morris  was 
sad  for  want  of  her,  and  I  knew  too  that  Leah  made  full  use 
of  her  when  she  was  at  Sandcombe,  and  took  good  care  that, 


64  URSULA. 

if  she  was  an  expense  in  one  way,  she  should  be  a  saving  in 
another.  The  girl  who  helped  in  the  kitchen  was  always 
sent  way  when  Jessie  came ;  and  though  Leah  liked  her 
cousin  to  dress  herself  in  her  best,  and  sit  in  the  parlour  in 
the  afternoon,  in  case  Mr.  Stewart,  or  the  Shaws,  or  the 
clergyman  from  Hatton  should  call,  yet  she  made  her  work 
like  a  scrub  in  the  morning.  Jessie  had  a  meek  temper,  and 
never  complained,  and  upon  the  whole  I  don't  know  that  she 
had  much  cause.  She  was  an  orphan,  and  left  without  a 
penny,  and  the  Morrises  had  quite  adopted  her ;  and  if  Mrg. 
Morris  was  at  all  in  fault  in  the  way  she  brought  her  up,  it 
was  that  she  spoiled  her.  She  was  fond  of  Jessie  for  her 
good  nature,  and  proud  of  her  for  her  beauty.  Many  pretty 
children  don't  grow  up  pretty,  but  this  was  not  the  case  with 
Jessie.  It  was  quite  impossible  not  to  notice  her ;  she  had 
such  a  bright  complexion,  a  good  nose  and  mouth,  and  such 
very  soft  blue  eyes,  with  a  kind  of  beseeching  look  in  them 
which  touched  one's  heart  directly  she  looked  at  one.  No 
one  would  have  thought  that  she  had  come  of  common 
parents,  and  indeed  her  mother  was  quite  a  lady  ;  but  she 
married  badly,  and  fell  into  poverty,  and  then  her  own  rela- 
tions cast  her  off,  and  she  was  obliged  to  depend  entirely 
upon  the  Morrises.  Jessie  bore  the  mark  of  her  origin  in 
everything  she  did  and  said.  It  used  almost  to  startle 
me  sometimes,  if  I  happened  "to  go  over  to  Sandcombe  early, 
and  found  her  busy  at  house  work,  to  hear  her  speak  and 
ask  me  how  I  was,  and  inquire  for  Roger.  The  voice 
was  so  sweet,  I  could  have  thought  it  was  Mrs.  Weu*  talking 
to  me,  only  that  there  was  no  melancholy  in  it.  I  don't 
think  Jessie  knew  what  melancholy  meant.  Her  high 
spirits,  indeed,  sometimes  carried  her  away  too  fai",  but  she 
was  never  boisterous.  I  was  always  fond  of  her,  though 
I  could  not  make  her  much  of  a  friend,'  for  we  did  not 
care  for  the  same  things.  She  had  very  little  education ; 
reading  she  did  not  much  care  for,  and  I  don't  think  she 
would  ever  have  written  and  spelled  correctly,  but  that 
Charles  Morris  one  day  found  out  her  ignorance,  and  took 
her  under  his  own  teaching.  They  seemed  to  think  she 
would  learn  everything  naturally,  and  she  managed  to  make 
a  fair  show,  though  really  she  could  do  little  well  beyond 


URSULA.  65 

housework  and  trimming  a  bonnet.  The  life  she  led  was  too 
busy  for  her  to  feel  the  need  of  anything  more,  and  she  had 
so  much  petting  and  loving  from  every  one,  that  she  was 
ignorant  of  any  want  in  herself  I  don't  know  quite  what 
it  was  which  made  her  so  loveable.  No  one  could  have 
called  her  sensible,  and  she  was  very  much  given  to  dress  and 
gaiety  when  she  could  meet  with  them ;  but  even  when  she 
provoked  me  with  her  silliness  one  minute,  I  could  not  help 
being  fond  of  her  the  nest.  She  had  such  a  way  of  saying 
she  was  sorry,  and  she  wished  she  was  as  good  as  I  was.  I 
suspect  that  won  upon  me,  for  I  dearly  liked  to  be  looked 
up  to.  Besides,  I  must  say  that  she  was  very  grateful ;  the 
least  little  kindness  touched  her  ;  and  though  Leah  had  been 
ever  so  hard  upon  her,  I  believe  she  would  have  worked  her 
fingers  off  for  her,  because  she  was  a  Morris.  She  always 
said  the  Morrises  were  the  best  friends  she  had  in  the  world. 
What  did  Jessie  more  harm  than  anything  else  was  the 
acquaintance  with  the  Shaws  ;  but  I  may  leave  that  for  the 
present.  It  will  be  better  to  put  down  a  few  things  about 
myself  and  Dene  first.  The  property  was  not  sold,  as  people 
said  it  was  going  to  be ;  but  it  was  mortgaged,  for  how  much 
nobody  knew — or  at  least  if  Roger  knew  he  never  told.  If 
it  had  been  sold  I  suppose  we  should  have  been  obliged  to 
move,  but  as  it  was,  we  remained  on  year  after  year.  Towards 
the  end  of  every  summer,  Mr.  Weir  and  his  wife,  and  Miss 
Milicent,  came  regularly,  and  stayed  till  nearly  winter :  and 
I  learnt,  by  degrees,  to  look  forward  to  this  as  the  pleasant 
time",  in  spite  of  Mr.  Weir's  pride  and  Miss  Milicent's  fussi- 
ness.  My  delight  was  to  be  with  Mrs.  Weir,  and  this  was  not 
strange,  for  she  was  exceedingly  kind,  and  did  more  for  me 
in  the  way  of  education  than  I  could  possibly  have  expected. 
I  had  gone  on  learning  what  I  could  at  Conipton  school,  and 
upon  the  whole  I  think  I  was  very  well  taught,  and  not  at  all 
backward  for  my  age ;  but  by  the  time  I  was  fourteen,  there 
was  not  much  else  which  the  mistress  could  teach  me ;  and 
then  Leah  tried  to  persuade  Roger  to  send  me  for  a  year  to 
Hove,  and  to  pay  for  it  out  of  the  money  that  had  been  put  by 
for  me.  I  don't  think  William  would  have  allowed  this,  for 
though,  as  I  have  said,  he  was  close  by  nature,  he  was  not  at  aU 
wanting  in  affection,  and  the  money  had  been  intended  as  a 


66  URSULA. 

nest  egg  for  me,  and  so  he  would  have  wished  it  to  remain  in- 
creasing till  I  grew  up.  But  his  opinion  was  not  needed  as 
Roger  stopped  the  notion  at  once ;  and  now  that  I  lived  with 
him,  his  will  was  law. 

When  at  last  I  was  really  too  old  to  go  to  Compton  school 
any  longer,  Roger  thought  it  might  do  to  send  away  Sarah 
and  give  me  the  house  work  to  look  after.  Leah  objected 
to  this :  she  said  I  was  not  born  to  it ;  that  I  had  always 
been  accustomed  to  a  servant,  and  she  thought  I  should  have 
one  still :  but  Mrs.  Mason  took  Roger's  side,  and  said  it  was 
a  very  good  plan ;  and  Fanny  should  help  me  at  the  cottage, 
and  I  might  help  Fanny  at  the  house,  and  she  would  look 
after  us  both. 

That  was  one  of  the  greatest  helps  Roger  had  in  his  care 
of  me.  I  think  he  would  rather  have  sent  me  to  school  than 
have  left  me  at  home  with  no  one  to  think  about  me ;  but 
Mrs.  Mason  kept  me  very  strict,  never  letting  me  make  ac- 
quaintances without  her  knowing  it ;  and  taking  care  that  I 
should  have  no  idle  time  upon  my  hands  for  gossiping  and 
folly.  There  was  very  little  variety  in  my  life.  Once  Mrs. 
Mason  took  me  to  London  to  stay  with  her  for  a  week  at  a 
friend's  house,  and  I  saw  all  the  chief  sights,  and  had  a  glimpse 
of  a  world  which  did  not  please  me  half  as  much  as  Dene, 
though  for  the  time  I  heartily  enjoyed  it;  but  this  was  all 
the  change  I  had  for  several  years.  I  might  have  found  it 
a  dull  life,  and  required  more  for  my  happiness  but  for  Mrs. 
Weir.  Mrs.  Kemp,  of  Longside,  was  very  kind  to  me,  and 
Mary  Kemp  and  I  became  great  friends ;  but  neither  of  them 
could  quite  give  me  what  I  wanted  and  found  in  Mrs.  Weir. 
Books  were  still,  as  they  had  always  been,  my  great  pleasure, 
and  as  long  as  I  could  go  to  the  upper-seat, — close  to  the 
down,  and  hidden  by  the  shrubbery  and  the  plantation  trees, 
and  read,  I  had  no  wish  for  anything  else  in  the  world.  Mrs. 
Weir  soon  found  this  out ;  but  she  only  noticed  and  helped 
me  in  my  taste  by  degrees.  It  seemed  as  if  she  was  afraid 
of  showing  that  she  took  much  interest  in  anything ;  and 
for  some  time  I  was  always  sent  away,  if  I  was  iu  the  draw- 
ing-room when  Mr.  Weir  came  in.  But  by  degrees  I  gained 
a  better  footing. 

Mr.  Weir  delighted  in  hearing  anythiDg  he  possessed  ad- 
mired ;  he  cared  little  what  it  was  that  was  liked,  or  who  it 


^  URSULA.  67 

was  that  liked  it,  all  he  wanted  was  to  hear  people  say  "  Oh  ! 
how  beautiful !  "  And  so  it  happened  that  Dene  being  dull 
at  times  when  no  one  was  staying  in  the  house,  he  used  to 
amuse  himself,  when  I  was  quite  young,  with  seeing  my  won- 
der and  pleasure  at  the  garden  and  the  fountains,  and  the 
peacock  and  peahen,  and  the  pea  chicks,  and  the  goldfish.  It 
was  a  very  honest  pleasure  on  my  part ;  I  was  never  tired  of 
holding  out  bread  to  the  peacock,  and  seeing  him  stretch  out 
his  beautiful  long  neck  and  snatch  it  out  of  my  fingers ;  and 
I  don't  think  the  pleasure  of  finding  the  feathers  ever  grew 
less ;  and  being  naturally  rather  free  spoken,  I  used  to  say 
out  what  came  into  my  head,  and  this  made  Mr.  Weir  laugh. 
I  believe  we  are  all  grateful  to  persons  who  make  us  laugh, 
whether  they  are  men,  women  or  children ;  and  I  can  imagine 
that  Mr.  Weir  was  so  particularly,  for  his  was  not  a  laughing 
nature,  if  his  countenance  spoke  truth.  There  was  a  sneer 
upon  it  almost  always,  and  sneers  and  hearty  laughter  don't 
go  well  together.  When  Mrs.  Weir  found  out  that  her  hus- 
band was  not  likely  to  interfere,  she  made  me  be  more  with 
her.  Before  I  left  school  I  was  in  the  habit  of  spending  a 
great  part  of  Saturday,  after  I  had  mended  my  clothes,  ifi 
reading  to  her,  and  at  such  times  she  chose  books  which  were 
likely  to  improve  me,  history,  and  lives  of  celebrated  people, 
and  such  things;  but  what  she  liked  most  was  to  read  her 
favorite  bits  of  poetry  to  me,  and  to  make  me  learn  them. 

I  did  not  understand  a  great  deal, — but  even  when  the 
sense  was  beyond  me,  there  was  a  pleasure  in  listening  to  the 
sound  of  Mrs.  Weir's  voice.  It  came  over  me  like  the  dis- 
t:.nt  rush  of  the  waves  upon  the  shingles,  as  I  have  heard  it 
often,  when  standing  by  the  oratory  on  St.  Anne's;  or  as 
the  sighing  of  the  wind  among  the  firs  in  the  plantation,  on 
a  beautiful  summer's  day,  when  a  thin  grey  mist  floated  over 
the  level  country,  and  every  now  and  then  the  breeze  rolled 
it  away,  and  showed  the  lines  of  sparkling  blue  sea,  far  away 
beyond  Hove.  Tears  have  often  come  into  my  eyes,  as  I 
have  hearkened  to  those  sounds,  which  seem  so  especially  to 
belong  to  God ;  and  they  have  risen  again  and  again  un- 
bidden, at  the  first  words  which  Mrs.  Weir  would  read, — 
startling  me  with  a  sense  of  something  that  was  not  of  this 
world, — an  echo,  it  might  be,  of  a  voice  that  had  been  heard 
in  Paradise.     Children  feel  these  things,  grown  up  people 


68  URSULA. 

reason  upon  them  ;  but  I  think  children  know  more  about 
them.  As  time  went  on,  and  I  learnt  to  know  more  of 
Mrs.  Weir's  life, — her  whole  history  seemed  to  me  to  be 
told  in  the  strange,  sweet,  sad  tones  of  her  voice,  as  she  read 
the  verses  in  which  she  delighted.  It  was  happy  for  me 
that  I  was  not  with  her  always.  What  I  did  see  of  her  was 
good  for  me,  I  am  sure  in  many  ways,  but  to  have  lived  al- 
ways with  such  a  person  would  have  quite  unfitted  me  for 
my  real  work.  Roger  was  a  little  afraid  of  this,  and  I  don't 
think  he  was  sorry  that  I  had  Miss  Milicent  near,  to  pre- 
vent my  becoming  too  much  wrapt  up  ia.JMrs.  Weir  and  my 
books. 

There  was  no  fear  of  poetry  where  Miss  Milicent  has 
any  authority.  I  don't  think  she  had  ever  learned  a  verse  in 
her  life  except  "  How  doth  the  little  busy  bee ;"  at  least 
that  was  the  only  thing  I  ever  heard  her  repeat.  How  she 
came  to  be  so  entirely  unlike  her  mother,  I  never  could  un- 
derstand in  those  days,  but  since  I  have  seen  more  of  the  world, 
I  have  thought  that  mothers  who  have  any  one  particular 
fancy,  or  taste,  or  even  good  principle,  are  apt  to  bring  it 
forward  on  all  occasions,  and  so  their  children  take  a  disgust 
at  it,  and  run  the  contrary  way. 

I  know  I  have  observed  in  religion,  how  persons  who  are 
very  good  and  earnest  themselves  give  their  children  a  turn 
against  it,  by  continually  talking  about  it.  Mrs.  Weir 
did  this  I  suspect  with  her  poetry.  She  did  not  see 
what  a  different  nature  Miss  Milicent's  was ;  indeed,  I 
don't  think  she  was  quick  at  understanding  any  person's  na- 
ture. She  was  always  living  in  a  kind  of  dream.  One  thing 
I  must  say  for  her, — Miss  Milicent  would  have  been  a  puzzle 
to  any  one.  She  was  not  like  father,  nor  mother,  nor  cousin, 
nor  any  one  belonging  to  her,  that  I  ever  saw,  nor,  indeed, 
like  any  one  living  but  herself  Mrs.  Mason  said  one  day 
that  she  took  after  her  grandmother,  and  that  might  have 
been  the  case.  When  I  first  saw  her,  she  must  have  been 
about  five  and  twenty ;  but  she  was  then  as  old  in  her  ways 
as  she  was  a  dozen  years  after.  I  took  it  upon  faith,  when  I 
first  knew  her,  that  she  was  a  good  woman,  and  that  is  say- 
ing a  good  deal ;  for  no  faith  that  was  ever  heard  of  would 
have  made  me  believe  that  Leah  Morris  was  good. 

It  always  seemed  to  me  that  Miss  Milicent  fancied  she 


URSULA.  69 

was  sent  into  the  world  on  purpose  to  set  it  to  rights; 
and  I  believe  honestly  that  she  began  with  herself,  as  far  as 
her  knowledge  went.  She  was  neither  passionate,  nor  sulky ; 
she  always  spoke  the  truth,  and  was  thoughtful  for  the  poor, 
and  took  a  great  deal  of  pains  with  their  children ;  and  as 
for  industry,  she  worked  harder  than  Roger.  I  often  puz- 
zled myself  in  those  days  to  find  out  what  the  fault  in  her 
was,  and  at  last  I  settled  that  she  was  selfish.  She  wished 
everybody  to  do  right,  and  be  comfortable,  but  it  must  be  in 
her  way.  She  would  deny  herself  like  a  saint  to  carry  out 
anything  which  she  thought  likely  to  be  good  ;  but  she  could 
not  sit  still,  nor  keep  the  room  tidy,  nor  speak  low  and  soft, 
because  of  her  mother's  wishes — whimsies,  she  used  to  call 
them — that  was  her  favourite  word ;  and  I  suppose  Mrs. 
Weir  had  a  few  such ;  and  certainly  it  was  irritating  for  a 
person  of  Miss  Milicent's  age  to  be  complained  of  as  if  she 
had  been  a  child  of  five  ;  but  then  she  ought  never  to  have 
given  cause  for  the  complaint.  God  had  granted  her  quick 
sense,  and  she  should  have  seen  her  mother's  little  odd  ways, 
and  made  allowance  for  them,  and  valued  Mrs.  Weir  for  the 
many  things  there  were  to  be  valued  in  her,  not  set  herself 
to  alter  them  as  she  did.  That  was  the  cause  of  half  the 
family  troubles,  because  it  destroyed  anything  like  sympa- 
thy between  the  mother  and  the  daughter  ;  and  so  each  went 
her  separate  way  and  grew  more  and  more  strange,  and  wed- 
ded to  her  own  fashion.  Miss  Milicent  always  took  care 
that  I  did  my  work  properly ;  and  she  taught  me  many  use- 
ful things ;  amongst  others,  to  knit  stockings  and  cut  out 
dresses.  She  was  clever  at  that,  though  she  chose  to  dress 
so  oddly  ;  and  Roger  was  glad  I  should  learn,  for  there  was 
still  an  idea  that  it  might  be  a  good  thing  for  me  some  day 
to  be  a  dress-maker.  After  a  time  Mrs.  Weir  employed  me 
in  doing  little  things  for  her  in  the  way  of  altering  dresses 
and  in  plain  needlework;  and  Mrs.  Richardson,  of  Gompton, 
sent  me  common  dresses  to  make  up,  and  spoke  for  mc  to 
Mrs.  Stewart  of  Hatton,  and  several  other  persons ;  and 
at  last  I  found  I  had  more  than  enough  to  do ;  though  I 
never  professed  to  take  to  the  occupation  as  a  business.  The 
comfort  to  me  was  that  I  was  able  in  consequence  to  help 
Roger  in  paying  my  own  expenses,  and  as  I  saved  him  a  ser- 


70  URSULA. 

vant,  and  even  gained  something  by  assisting  Fanny  at  the 
house  when  Mr.  Weir  was  at  Dene,  there  was  no  notion 
of  sending  me  away  to  earn  my  own  living,  which  was  what 
I  dreaded  more  than  anything. 

Of  course  when  I  became  so  busy  with  my  work  I  had 
but  little  time  for  reading,  though  I  never  gave  it  up  en- 
tirely. 


♦       CHAPTER  X. 

Things  went  on  in  this  quiet  way  for  a  long  time.  But 
some  alterations  were  made  in  the  place  :  a  billiard  room 
was  built  over  the  store  house,  and  a  sitting-room  and 
two  small  bedrooms  were  added  to  the  house ;  and  some 
shrubs  planted  to  enlarge  the  grounds.  The  billiard  room 
helped  greatly  to  amuse  Mr.  Weir  when  he  and  his  friends 
came  down.  He  took  much  more  kindly  to  Dene  after  it 
was  built,  but  I  don't  think  it  improved  him.  He  grew  more 
irritable  and  restless,  and  the  people  whom  he  brought  with 
him  were  not  such  as  were  likely  to  improve  him.  Eating, 
and  drinking,  and  billiards,  were  the  occupations  at  home, 
and  when  they  went  out  shooting  they  mixed  with  persons 
who  were  not  equal  to  them  by  birth,  and  whose  characters 
did  not  stand  well  in  the  county.  Young  Mr.  Shaw,  of 
White  Hill,  was  invited  to  Dene  every  now  and  then,  and 
the  family  held  up  their  heads  in  consequence,  and  thought 
themselves  very  grand ;  and  the  girls  dressed  more  smartly 
than  ever,  and  talked  of  Mr.  Weir  as  though  he  was  quite 
one  of  themselves.  But  I  knew  better  than  that.  Mr. 
Weir  would  not  have  spoken  to  any  one  of  them  but  for  some 
object  of  his  own,  for  a  prouder  man  never  lived. 

All  these  things,  however,  affected  me  but  little.  I  used 
to  hear  of  what  went  on  from  Jessie  Lee,  who  was  quite  one 
with  the  Shaws,  but  I  followed  my  own  ways,  and  lived  at 
Dene  without  much  to  trouble  me,  till  I  was  two  and  twenty. 
Roger  was  then  thirty-six ;  quite  an  old  man,  and  an  old 
bachelor  too.  People  used  to  laugh,  and  say  that  I  should 
be  a  rich  heiress,  for  Roger  was  surely  making  money  all 
this  time,  and  as  he  was  certain  never  to  marry,  it  would  all 
be  left  to  me. 


U  E  S  U  L  A  .  71 

They  thought  he  had  an  easy  place  and  a  quiet  life. 
Little  they  knew  of  all  the  things  he  had  to  vex  and  fret 
him.  Mr.  Weir  was  a  most  tiresome  man  to  deal  with  :  he 
had  as  many  minds  as  there  are  days  in  the  year ;  one  week 
he  would  have  things  done  and  the  next  week  he  would  not ; 
and  what  was  worse,  he  changed  not  only  about  things  but 
people.  How  he  kept  on  so  long  with  Roger  was  surprising, 
only  I  believe  that  he  felt  Roger  was  careful,  and  by  looking 
after  his  affairs  made  money  go  farther  than  any  one  else 
was  likely  to  do.  But  as  for  other  people,  such  as  the  gar- 
dener, and  the  imder-gardener,  and  the  labourers,  and  even 
the  gamekeeper,  it  was  a  perpetual  one  going  and  another 
coming ;  and  Roger  had  to  give  fresh  orders  and  directions 
to  each  new  person,  because  it  was  Mr.  Weir's  will  that 
everything  should  be  done  through  him.  I  have  often  heard 
William  counsel  him  to  give  it  up  and  try  something  else, 
but  Roger  only  laughed,  and  said,  "  Where  is  there  a  place 
without  trouble  in  this  world  ?  I  know  the  worst  here,  and 
I  don't  know  it  elsewhere."  "  A  rolling  stone  gathers  no 
moss,"  was  one  of  his  favourite  proverbs,  and  it  often  helped 
him  to  decide  when  he  was  in  difficulty ;  but  there  is  no 
question  that  it  was  a  very  trying  life. 

The  summer  that  I  was  two  and  twenty,  Mrs.  Weir  ar- 
rived about  the  middle  of  August,  looking  extremely  ill,  and 
Miss  Milicent  not  in  her  usual  spirits ;  but  there  was  no  Mr. 
Weir.  We  settled  down  into  om*  usual  ways :  Miss  Mili- 
cent busying  herself  with  the  house  and  the  garden,  and  go- 
ing over  to  Compton  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Richardson  about  the 
school ;  and  Mrs.  Weir  living  to  herself,  curled  up  in  her 
easy  chair,  working  for  the  poor,  never  going  out,  and  re- 
quiring me  to  go  and  read  to  her  every  evening  at  five 
o'clock;  but  Mr.  Weir's  name  was  scarcely  mentioned  by 
any  one,  and  even  Roger  seemed  to  take  it  as  a  matter  of 
course  that  he  was  not  coming,  though  he  never  told  me 
why. 

I  had  made  tea  one  evening,  and  Roger  and  I  were  sit- 
ting down  comfortably  together,  when  we  heard  a  knock  at 
the  door,  and  I  went  to  open  it.  Mr.  Hervey  was  there,  I 
shook  hands  with  him,  and  welcomed  him  gladly,  for  he  was 
now  quite  an  old  friend.     He  was  often  at  Dene  on  business, 


72  URSULA. 

and  we  met  frequently  at  Longside,  the  Kemps  being  his 
relations,  and  indeed  it  had  been  said  that  he  was  going  to 
marry  Mary  Kemp.  He  often  came  in  in  this  way  un- 
awares, so  we  were  not  surprised  to  see  him,  and  we  asked 
him,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  sit  down  and  take  a  cup  of  tea 
with  us.  I  noticed  then  for  the  first  time  that  he  was  flur- 
ried. He  answered  rather  quickly  that  he  had  not  time,  he 
had  just  a  few  words  to  say  to  Roger,  that  was  all.  I  got 
up  to  go  away,  but  Mr.  Hervey  prevented  me,'  and  he  and 
Roger  went  together  into  the  parlour.  It  was  dull  to  drink 
my  tea  alone,  so  I  put  the  teapot  upon  the  hob,  to  keep  it  as 
warm  as  I  could,  and  went  to  my  work.  I  was  making  a  set 
of  shirts  for  Roger,  and  I  was  obliged  to  snatch  all  the 
spare  moments  I  could.  I  happened  to  be  sitting  with  my 
back  to  the  light,  but  presently  a  shadow  darkened  the 
window,  and  before  I  could  turn  round  to  see  who  it  was,  I 
heard  Jessie  Lee's  gentle  little  voice,  saying,  "  Good  evening 
to  you,  Ursie.     Why  are  you  all  alone  ?  " 

I  went  to  the  window  to  speak  to  her,  and  ask  her  what 
she  had  come  for,  but  I  drew  back  vexed,  for  Jane  Shaw 
was  with  her,  and  though  William  and  Leah  found  no  fault 
with  the  acquaintance,  I  never  could  bear  it. 

"  So  you  don't  know  me,"  said  Jane,  laughing  a  little 
angrily.  "  We  don't  see  too  much  of  each  other,  certainly, 
but  I  should  not  have  thought  we  were  quite  such  strangers  !  " 

I  opened  the  window  to  answer  for  the  sake  of  civility. 
I  knew  I  had  no  right  to  show  my  dislike  rudely ;  and  yet 
I  think  any  one  who  had  looked  at  Jane  Shaw,  would  have 
understood  what  it  was  that  I  could  not  bear  in  her. 

A  bold,  cunning  looking  girl  she  was,  yet  not  ugly.  She 
had  beautiful  hair,  which  she  wore  in  large  long  curls;  and 
though  her  skin  was  freckled,  it  was  very  clear.  She  had  a 
low  forehead,  which  I  disliked,  quick  grey  eyes,  and  a  small 
mouth,  with  very  thin  lips ;  but  she  set  up  for  being  pretty, 
and  because  of  that  spent  all  her  money  upon  dress  ;  and  I  had 
heard  her  say  that  she  was  quite  determined  to  marry  a  gen- 
tleman. 

Jessie  looked  like  a  little  angel  by  her  side, — so  young, 
and  sweet,  and  simple, — only  rather  too  smartly  dressed  to 
please  me. 


URSULA.  73 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  "  I  asked,  for  want  of  some- 
thing better  to  say. 

"  We  have  been  to  Hove,"  answered  Jessie.  "  I  wanted 
to  do  some  shopping,  and  Aunt  Morris  (she  always  called 
Mrs.  Morris  aunt)  gave  me  a  holiday.  We  went  in  the 
chaise ;  and  coming  back,  Jane  and  I  had  a  wish  to  walk 
over  the  down  to  Hatton,  instead  of  going  round  by  the 
road ;  so  the  boy  drove  the  chaise,  and  we  came  on  by  our- 
selves.    Jane  is  going  to  sleep  at  our  house  to-night." 

This  was  a  very  straightforward  history,  yet  it  did  not 
please  me.  All  I  could  say  was,  "  I  don't  think  I  should 
have  chosen  such  a  long  walk  after  a  day's  shopping !  " 

"  Mrs.  Weir  is  here,  isn't  she  ?  "  asked  Jane,  carelessly 
and  leaning  against  the  window,  determined,  I  could  see,  not 
to  move. 

"  Yes,  she  and  Miss  Milicent  came  about  six  weeks  ago," 
I  replied. 

"  Oh  !  and  not  Mr.  Weir.  That  must  be  good  riddance 
for  you.     But  I  heard  in  Hove  that  he  came  last  night." 

"  Hove  people  know  more  about  our  concerns  than  we  do 
ourselves,  then,"  I  said. 

Jane  laughed,  and  answered  in  a  sharp,  conceited  way, 
"  Mr.  Weir  might  not  think  fit  to  tell  you  all  he  means  to 
do  :  but  take  my  word  for  it,  he  will  be  down  soon." 

"  May  be,"  I  replied.  "  He  will  find  everything  ready 
for  him  if  he  does  come ;  "  and  as  I  spoke  I  made  a  little 
movement  as  though  to  shut  the  window,  to  give  Jane  a  no- 
tion that  she  might  go.  Then  a  feeling  of  self-reproach 
came  over  me  because  I  had  been  uncivil,  and  I  forced  my- 
self to  say,  "  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  come  in  and  take  a 
cup  of  tea.  Roger  and  I  were  just  sitting  down,  only  Mr. 
Hervey  called  and  interrupted  us." 

"  Well,  Jessie,  what  do  you  say  ?  "  exclaimed  Jane,  in 
her  off-hand  way ;  "  it  would  be  a  good  plan,  I  think." 

She  had  not  the  graciousness  to  say  "  Thank  you,"  but 
Jessie  was  very  prettily  grateful,  and  afraid  they  were  giv- 
ing trouble. 

I  put  the  teapot  upon  the  table  again,  and  cut  somo 
bread ;  and,  knowing  that  Jessie  was  fond  of  sweet  things,  I 
went  to  the  cupboard  and  took  out  a  pot  of  marmalade,  some 

Vol.  1—4 


74  URSULA. 

which  Mrs.  Mason  had  taught  me  to  make,  and  which  had 
been  much  praised. 

Jane  had  a  sneer  ready  for  everything.  "  You  live  here 
in  comfort  enough,  Ursie,"  she  said.  "  But  what  will  you 
do  when  Roger  takes  to  himself  a  wife  ?  " 

"  I  shall  see  when  the  time  comes,"  was  my  short  reply. 

Jessie  was  quick  in  knowing  when  subjects  were  unpleas- 
ant, so  she  said,  merrily,  "  Ursie  is  Mr.  Roger's  wife ;  he 
doesn't  want  any  other." 

"  Trust  him  for  that,"  replied  Jane  ;  "  Roger  Grant  is 
not  made  of  different  stuff  from  other  men;  is  he  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  think  he  is,"  was  my  answer,  half  in  joke 
and  half  in  earnest ;  for  I  could  not  have  a  tiff  about  Roger 
with  a  girl  like  Jane  Shaw ;  "  but,"  I  added,  "  one  thing  I 
know,  that  when  Roger  does  take  a  wife,  it  will  be  a  sensi- 
ble one." 

"  Mary  Kemp,  I  suppose,"  said  Jane,  laughing. 

"  No,"  observed  Jessie ;  "  Mary  is  going  to  be  married 
to  Mr.  Hervey." 

"  Is  that  true  ?"  I  asked  eagerly.  "  I  have  heard  it  said, 
but  never  knew  whether  to  believe  it,  as  neither  Mrs.  Kemp 
nor  Mary  owned  it." 

"  Miss  Brown,  the  dress-maker,  declared  it  was  true  to- 
day," replied  Jessie.  "  I  went  there  to  have  my  new  dress 
fitted,  and  she  told  us  that  she  believed  Mary  Kemp's  wed- 
ding clothes  were  ordered." 

"  Mary  Kemp  is  a  very  good  girl,"  I  replied,  "  and  she 
will  make  a  good  wife.     I  hope  they  are  going  to  live  near." 

"  More  than  I  do,"  observed  Jane ;  "  one  set  of  Kemps 
is  enough  in  a  neighbourhood.  What  nonsense  do  you  think 
old  Kemp  is  about  now  ?  Father  says  he  will  be  the  ruin 
of  the  farmers,  if  he  goes  on  as  he  does." 

"  Giving  his  labourers  a  shilling  a  week  more  ?  "  I  asked, 
rather  sharply ;  "  that  was  his  last  offence,  I  know." 

"  Spoiling  the  labourers,"  exclaimed  Jane.  "  Joining 
with  Mr.  Vincent,  the  agent,  and  making  Mr.  Stewart  throw 
away  all  his  money  upon  their  cottages.  Father  wanted  a 
new  scullery  and  coal-house  put  on  for  us,  and  he  spoke  to 
Mr.  Vincent  about  it,  and  the  answer  was,  that  he  didn't 
think  it  could  be  done  this  year,  because  Mr.  Stewart  had  a 


URSULA.  75 

plan  for  rebuilding  most  of  his  cottages,  and  giving  them  all 
two  bed-rooms.  Such  nonsense,  when  the  labourers  have 
gone  on  with  one  for  the  last  fifty  years,  and  never  com- 
plained !  And  who  is  at  the  bottom  of  this,  but  Farmer 
Kemp,  with  Mr.  Richardson,  of  Compton,  to  back  him  ? 
They  have  been  working  at  Mr.  Stewart  for  months.  And 
there  are  we,  cramped  up  without  a  decent  place  to  wash  up 
the  dishes  in;  and  obliged  to  turn  the  wood-house  into  a 
coal-hole,  merely  because  it  is  Farmer  Kemp's  fancy  that  his 
carter  should  have  two  bed-rooms." 

"  Mr.  Richardson  was  over  at  Sandcombe  talking  about 
it,  when  I  was  staying  there  last,"  said  Jessie.  "  William 
Grant  has  two  or  three  cottages  of  his  own,  hasn't  he,  Ur- 
sie  ?  I  knew  Mr.  Richardson  was  begging  him  to  see  about 
adding  to  them,  and  Leah  got  angry ;  and,  when  he  was 
gone,  said  she  wished  clergymen  would  keep  to  their  business 
of  writing  sermons,  and  not  trouble  themselves  with  mat- 
ters which  didn't  concern  them.  By  the  bye,  Ursie,"  and 
Jessie  spoke  out  quite  brightly,  as  having  escaped  from  a 
tiresome  subject,  "  do  you  know  of  any  girl  that  will  suit 
Leah,  to  help  in  the  dairy  ?  She  told  me  if  I  happened  to 
see  you  I  was  to  ask.  She  talked  of  coming  over  herself 
about  it ;  the  girls  she  has  had  lately  have  turned  out  so 
badly." 

"  They  all  turn  out  badly  for  that  matter,"  said  Jane ; 
"  it  is  in  their  nature,  father  says ;  and  he  never  expects 
anything  better." 

"  So  Leah  says,"  continued  Jessie.  "  She  declares  they 
have  no  sense  of  what  is  decent,  and  that  there  is  no  keeping 
them  in  order.  Remember,  Ursie,  I  have  asked  ;  so  it  is  off 
my  conscience."     Jessie  stood  up  and  put  on  her  bonnet. 

Jane  waited  still.  She  had  a  quick  eai*,  and  I  suspect 
she  caught  the  sound  of  the  voices  in  the  parlour,  and  thought 
Roger  and  Mr.  Hervey  were  coming  in ;  and  so  they  were. 
Their  conversation  had  been  much  longer  than  was  proposed, 
and  it  did  not  seem  to  have  been  very  pleasant,  to  judge  by 
their  looks. 

"  Good  evening  to  you,  Mr.  Hervey,"  said  Jane,  going 
up  to  him.  "  I  did  not  expect  to  see  you,  though  I  might 
have  done  so ;  you  are  here  so  often." 


76  URSULA. 

"  Business,  Miss  Shaw,"  replied  Mr.  Hervey,  quickly, 
and  a  little  sharply ;  "  it  must  be  attended  to,  you  know.  I 
won't  stay  now,  IJrsic,"  he  added,  speaking  to  me, — he  al- 
ways called  me  Ursie,  having  known  me  from  a  child, — "  as 
you  have  company." 

"Nay,"  I  answered,  "you  must  have  some  tea;  I  have 
been  keeping  it  hot  for  you ;  and  Jessie  and  Jane  Shaw  have 
finished,  and  they  are  going  to  walk  over  the  hill  to 
Hatton." 

Roger  had  been  standing  by  the  window,  thinking.  He 
turned  round  then,  and  said,  "  I  am  going  to  Sandcombe ;  if 
they  would  wait  a  few  minutes,  I  might  see  them  part  of  the 
way ;  and,  Ursie,  you  could  come,  too. " 

It  was  a  temptation.  I  seldom  had  a  quiet  walk  with 
Roger,  except  on  Sundays ;  and  I  was  not  sorry  to  keep  Jes- 
sie from  being  alone  with  Jane  Shaw,  though  it  might  be 
only  for  half  an  hour. 

Jane  tossed  her  bonnet  ofi",  and  laughed,  and  said  she  was 
always  willing  to  have  good  company ;  and,  since  they  were 
to  be  a  merry  party,  it  would  be  as  well  for  Mr.  Hervey  to 
join  them,  "  Unless  he  has  business  elsewhere,"  she  added, 
with  mischief  in  her  look. 

I  did  not  expect  Mr.  Hervey  to  agree,  but  he  did,  with- 
out requiring  any  pressing,  and  I  felt  quite  cross  with  him, 
thinking  how  soon  a  man  could  be  taken  in  by  a  forward 
woman.  He  and  Roger  drank  up  their  tea  quickly,  and 
scarcely  ate  anything,  saying  they  would  wait.for  supper.  I 
left  Jessie  to  take  my  place,  and  pour  out  the  last  cups  of 
tea,  and  went  to  put  on  my  things  ;  and  when  I  came  down 
again,  I  found  that  Jane  had  possession  of  Mr.  Hervey,  and 
was  trying  to  find  out  from  him  all  she  could  about  Mr. 
Weir,  when  he  was  expected,  and  why  he  didn't  come.  She 
took  it  for  granted  that  he  knew  all,  and  I  saw  from  his  man- 
ner that  there  was  more  in  his  mind  than  he  chose  to  tell ; 
but  he  warned  her  off  admirably,  not  letting  her  know  any- 
thing he  chose  to  keep  to  himself,  and  yet  joking  all  the 
time,  so  that  she  could  not  be  angry. 


URSULA.  77 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"We  were  to  have  separated  when  we  reached  the  top  of 
the  down,  at  the  end  of  the  turf  road,  but  the  evening  was 
so  pleasant  we  were  tempted  to  go  on  farther,  instead  of 
turning  down  to  Sandcombe.  It  was  Jane  who  proposed  it ; 
she  said  we  might  cross  the  down  to  Hatton  lane,  and  then 
Jessie  and  she  would  soon  be  at  home.  Roger  was  doubtful; 
and  whilst  Jane  was  standing  urging  him,  Mr.  Hervey  whis- 
pered to  me,  ''  Can't  you  come  on,  Ursie  ?  I  have  a  word  to 
say  to  you." 

I  walked  on  a  few  paces,  being  sure  Roger  would  follow ; 
Mr.  Hervey  and  I  kept  in  front.  He  did  not  speak  till  we 
were  at  some  distance  from  the  others ;  then  he  said,  "  You 
are  not  likely  to  be  startled  at  news  as  some  people  are,  so  I 
may  as  well  tell  you  at  once  that  there  is  trouble  coming, 
and  that  Roger  may  be  wishing  you  to  leave  Dene." 

"  Trouble  upon  us — money  trouble  !  "  I  exclaimed,  and 
I  felt  my  heart  sink,  in  spite  of  what  Mr.  Hervey  had  said. 

"  Not  trouble  upon  you,  and  not  money  trouble,  at  least 
as  far  as  you  are  concerned,"  he  replied.  "  But  I  told 
Roger  I  should  like  to  have  a  little  conversation  with  you, 
and  show  you  part  of  my  mind  upon  the  subject,  as  regards 
Mrs.  Weir,  and  he  was  willing  I  should,  though  as  yet  we 
don't  see  matters  quite  alike." 

"  He  is  going  over  to  Sandcombe  to  talk  to  William,"  I 
said. 

"  Yes  ;  he  trusts  him  as  a  prudent  man,  which  is  natural 
and  right ;  and  he  would  save  you,  if  he  could,  from  things 
which  might  give  you  pain.  But  you  are  not  one  to  care  for 
pain,  if  by  bearing  it  you  can  be  a  comfort  to  any  one." 

"  And  by  staying  with  Mrs.  Weir  I  may  be  a  comfort  to 
her,"  I  said.     I  seemed  to  understand  it  all  in  an  instant. 

"  A  woman  is  a  help  to  a  woman,  let  her  be  who  she 
may  ;  and  Mrs.  Weir  has  been  very  kind  to  you,  Ursie." 

"  Very,"  I  said  ;  "  I  never  had  a  better  friend." 

"  And  she  needs  a  return,"  he  continued.  "  Ursie,  did 
you  ever  hear  Mrs.  Weir's  history  ?  " 


78  URSULA. 

"  Only  by  bits.  Mrs.  Mason  has  let  out  a  little,  and 
some  things  I  have  guessed  at." 

"  Some  things  are  clear  as  daylight,"  said  Mr.  Hervey 
sadly  ;  "  but  there  is  a  good  deal  behind  which  only  a  few 
know,  which  I  should  never  have  known,  but  that  my  father 
was  Mr.  Weir's  bailiff,  and  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  his 
affairs,  and  his  father's  before  him,  and  so  we  have  become, 
as  it  were,  part  of  the  family.  If  I  tell  you  now,  Ursie,  it 
is  not  that  you  may  talk  about  it  all,  only  that  you  may  be 
the  more  inclined  to  be  kind  and  understanding." 

"  Of  course,"  I  said ;  "  it  will  all  be  buried  as  in  .the 
grave,  except  with  Roger." 

Mr.  Hervey  paused  for  a  moment ;  then  he  said,  "  You 
know  that  Mrs.  Weir  is  a  second  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  and  I  was  told  also  that  the  first 
Mrs.  Weir  had  less  money  than  her  husband  expected." 

"  So  it  was  said,"  he  replied ;  "  but  she  left  him  enough  to 
give  cause  for  his  being  considered  rich,  in  spite  of  his  extrav- 
agant habits;  and,  as  perhaps  you  know,  our  Mrs.  Weir 
brought  him  money  also.  She  was  a  Miss  Mayne,  and  not 
above  nineteen  when  she  first  knew  Mr.  Weir ;  very  lovely, 
like  a  little  fairy,  I  have  heard  my  father  say ;  one  can  easily 
fancy  that  from  what  she  is  now.  She  had  money  of  her 
own,  left  her  by  her  grandmother,  and  she  was  made  a  great 
deal  of, — spoilt  indeed  by  having  everything  she  wished  for ; 
naturally  she  was  full  of  fancies,  and,  being  delicate,  they 
humoured  her  in  them;  and  because  there  was  money  at 
hand  to  buy  everything,  there  seemed  no  reason,  at  first 
sight,  why  she  should  not  have  what  she  wanted.  Poor 
thing  !  she  has  lived  to  know  that  there  are  some  things 
which  no  money  can  buy." 

"  And  did  she  marry  Mr.  Weir  when  she  was  only  nine- 
teen ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No  !  When  she  knew  him  first  she  was  in  love  with 
somebody  else  ;  a  young  gentleman  named  Henderson.  He 
was  a  clerk  in  one  of  the  public  offices  in  London,  and  likely 
to  rise  in  the  world,  but  he  had  nothing  of  his  own  then  ex- 
cept his  salary.  Every  one  saw  they  were  attached  to  each 
other.  The  parents  put  no  obstacles  in  the  way  of  their 
meeting,  and  I  believe  there  was  a  kind  of  understanding 


URSULA.  79 

that  if  they  both  continued  in  the  same  mind  they  were  after 
a  while  to  be  married." 

"  And  why  did  they  not  marry  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Because  Mr.  Weir  came  in  the  way,  I  suppose  he 
must  really  have  taken  a  fancy  to  Miss  Mayne,  for  he  pro- 
posed to  her  only  eight  months  after  his  first  wife's  death." 

"  Enough  to  make  her  refuse  him  at  once,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  And  so  she  would  have  refused  him,  no  doubt,  if  she 
had  been  left  to  herself,"  replied  Mr.  Hervey.  "  But  her 
father  interfered.  He  liked  the  notion  of  a  rich  son-in-law 
better  than  a  poor  one,  and  what  was  more,  he  was  a  selfish 
man,  and  as  it  turned  out  afterwards,  had  involved  himself 
in  diflBculties,  out  of  which  Mr.  Weir  undertook  to  help  him, 
and  so  poor  little  Miss  Mayne  was  sacrificed." 

"  It  is  all  very  well  to  say,"  I  replied ;  "  but  it  never 
seems  to  me  that  any  woman  is  justified  in  marrying  a  man 
whom  she  cannot  love,  let  her  parents  urge  it  ever  so  much." 

"Well!  you  are  right,"  answered  Mr.  Hervey;  "but 
when  a  person  is  put  on  the  rack  one  must  not  be  severe  in 
one's  judgment ;  and,  from  what  I  have  heard,  they  set  poor 
little  Miss  Mayne  on  a  kind  of  rack.  False  stories  of  young 
Henderson  were  brought  to  her,  and  she  was  made  to  believe 
he  was  going  to  marry  some  one  else ;  and  that,  and  her 
father's  urging,  and  Mr.  Weir's  attentions, — for  he  knew 
well  enough  Jiow  to  make  himself  agreeable, — at  last  won  her 
over." 

"  And  did  Mr.  Henderson  say  nothing  for  himself  ?  "  I 
inquired. 

"  They  managed  it  all  when  he  was  out  of  the  way.  He 
had  been  se»t  abroad  for  a  time  on  some  matter  of  public 
business,  and  whilst  he  was  absent  the  aflfair  was  settled." 

"  But  he  might  have  written,"  I  said. 

"  They  took  good  care  that  his  letters  should  never  reach 
her ;  yet  she  did  hear  from  him  at  last.  A  note  from  him 
was  given  her,  I  have  been  told,  on  the  day  of  her  marriage, 
just  as  she  came  back  from  church.  You  can  fancy,  Ursie, 
what  a  wedding-party  that  was.  My  mother  watched  the 
carriage  drive  through  the  town,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weir 
went  oif  on  their  journey,  and  anything  so  ghastly  as  Mrs. 
Weir's  face  she  has  said  she  never  beheld." 


80  URSULA. 

"  Poor  thing ! "  I  exclaimed ;  "  I  wonder  how  she  could 
bear  it.     I  should  have  died." 

"  Life  is  made  of  tougher  threads  than  you  think,  Ursie," 
said  Mr.  Hervey,  "  and  I  suppose  we  all  in  a  way  grow  used 
to  our  sorrows.  Just  at  first,  too,  Mr.  Weir  was  not  unkind 
to  his  wife ;  she  lived  near  her  home,  and  had  her  old  friends 
about  her,  so  there  was  a  good  deal  to  soften  her  lot." 

"  But  Mr.  Weir  is  not  kind  to  her  now,''  I  observed. 

"  No  ;  he  grew  jealous  without  the  slightest  cause,  except 
that  he  knew  his  wife  had  been  attached  to  young  Henderson. 
They  met — Mr.  Henderson  and  Mrs.  Weir,  I  mean — for  the 
first  time  at  some  gay  party  in  London,  and  though  I  have 
heard  it  said  again  and  again  that  no  one  could  find  the  least 
thing  to  blame  in  their  manner  to  each  other,  yet  no  doubt 
Mr.  Weir  perceived  that  there  was  pain  on  both  sides.  And 
so  he  grew  angry  and  irritable,  and  I  dare  say  she,  having 
been  spoilt,  was  not  always  wise  in  her  mode  of  dealing  with 
him." 

"  She  may  not  have  been  wise,"  I  said,  "  but  she  must 
always  have  meant  rightly." 

"  Everybody  believed  that  of  her.  But  Mr.  Weir  is  a 
strange  man,  Ursie.  If  he  dislikes  or  suspects  once,  there  is 
no  overcoming  the  prejudice.  And  so  he  deliberately  set 
himself — at  least,  that  is  what  people  declare — to  ruin  young 
Henderson." 

"  Wretch  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Not  far  short  of  it,"  replied  Mr.  Hervey.  "  I  have 
that  opinion  of  him,  Ursie,  that,  but  for  the  sake  of  Mrs. 
Weir,  I  would  never  have  done  an  hour's  business  for  him. 
But  I  dare  say  he  would  make  a  good  excuse  foi*,  himself ;  it 
was  all  in  the  way  of  law,  and  therefore  he  called  it  justice. 
Mr.  Weir  was  engaged  in  some  speculations, — he  is  always 
speculating, — and  in  the  course  of  them,  he  and  young  Hen- 
derson were  mixed  up  in  the  same  concern.  Henderson  was 
not  a  good  man  of  business,  and  ignorantly  entered  into  some 
engagements  which  he  could  not  conveniently  keep.  He 
begged  for  time  ;  and  there  was  no  doubt  that  with  time  he 
would  have  overcome  his  difl&culties.  But  his  relations  were 
poor,  and  he  had  no  one  to  help  him.  Mr.  Weir  urged  the 
person  with  whom  he  was  connected  to  press  him.     Hender- 


URSULA.  ^  81 

son  was  in  despair,  for  he  was  a  strictly  honourable  man,  and 
at  last  he  ventured  to  write  to  Mrs.  Weir  and  ask  her  to 
intercede.  There  was  an  allusion  in  this  letter  to  past  days, 
but  not  a  word  which  might  not  have  been  published  in  the 
market-place.  Yet  Mr.  Weir's  anger  was  terrible.  They 
say  that  Mrs.  Weir  even  went  so  far  as  to  beg  him  on  her 
knees  to  be  merciful ;  but  his  answer  was  that  not  an  angel 
from  Heaven  should  persuade  him,  and  he  kept  his  word." 

"  And  was  Mr.  Henderson  ruined  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yes.  His  friends  came  forward  at  the  last  with  offers 
of  help,  but  it  was  too  late.  His  agony  of  mind,  aggravated 
no  doubt  by  all  he  had  gone  through  before,  brought  on  a 
brain  fever,  and  he  died." 

Silence  followed  for  some  seconds. 

Then  I  said,  "  She  stayed  with  her  husband  still  ?  " 

"  For  better  for  worse,"  replied  Mr.  Hervey.  "  There  is 
no  other  choice." 

"  I  must  have  left  him,"  I  exclaimed.  "  There  could  be 
no  law  to  bid  one  stay  with  such  a  monster." 

"  Mrs.  Weir  was  wiser  than  you,  Ursie,"  he  continued ; 
"  she  knew  well  enough  that  peace  is  only  to  be  found  in  the 
way  of  duty.  But  that  grief  made  her  what  she  is.  It 
wrecked  her  health  and  prevented  her  from  paying  attention 
to  her  child.  It  shook  her  mind  in  a  certain  way, — or 
rather,  I  should  say,  it  so  affected  her  nerves,  that  for  a  time 
she  seemed  stunned,  and  unable  to  take  in  common  affairs. 
She  has  recovered  in  a  measure,  but  the  bodily  weakness  re- 
mains, and  you  must  have  remarked  yourself,  that  she  seldom 
speaks  like  a  person  who  has  an  interest  in  this  world's  con- 
cerns. Only  now  and  then,  when  any  special  case  is  brought 
before  her,  if  one  is  with  her  alone,  her  vigour  of  character 
seems  to  return." 

"  I  should  scarcely  have  said  she  had  any  vigour  naturally," 
I  observed. 

"  You  are  mistaken  then ;  she  has  a  great  deal.  It  shows 
itself  now  in  a  singular  way :  one  might  suppose  that  she 
would  have  become  neglectful  of  her  husband  after  he  had 
shown  such  disregard  to  her  feelings ;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
she  is,  as  you  must  know,  even  morbidly  anxious  to  bo  obe- 

VoL.  1—4* 


82  URSULA. 

dient  to  him.  Conscience,  particularly  as  regards  him, 
seems  the  only  thing  which  is  left  thoroughly  alive  in  him." 

"  Perhaps,"  I  said,  "  she  feels  that  she  deceived  him  by 
the  very  act  of  marrying  him." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  he  replied.  "  At  any  rate,  duty  to  her 
husband  is  the  one  ruling  object  of  her  life  now  :  not  its 
motive  though,  Ursie ;  there  is  no  heart  in  what  she  does — 
how  can  there  be  ?  " 

"  How  indeed  !  "  I  replied  :  "  but,"  I  added,  as  I  thought 
of  Miss  Milicent,  "  that  must  all  have  taken  place  many  years 
ago." 

"  So  many,"  answered  Mr.  Hervey,  "  that  most  persons 
have  forgotten  the  circumstances,  if  they  ever  knew  them ; 
and  Mrs.  Weir  is  generally  considered  now  only  an  eccentric, 
nervous  invalid.  Yet  it  is  not  her  life  only  which  has  been 
affected  by  them,  but  Miss  Milicent's  also.  She  was  allowed 
to  go  her  own  way,  and  at  last  became  too  much  for  her 
mother.  She  was  clever  and  energetic,  and  Mr.  Weir  found 
her  useful  in  many  ways,  and  brought  her  forward,  and  at 
last  she  took  up  independent  notions  of  her  own,  and  quite 
looked  down  upon  her  parents." 

"  Not  upon  her  father  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Yes,  upon  them  both ;  for  she  was  quick  enough,  and 
good  enough,  I  will  say  that  for  her,  to  see  through  Mr. 
Weir.  It  seems,  Ursie,  that  when  we  put  our  hearts  into 
our  work  it  will  tell  in  some  way  or  other  in  the  end,  what- 
ever blunders,  we  may  make.  Sorrow,  through  God's  grace, 
made  Mrs.  Weir  very  religious,  and  whatever  else  Miss  Mili- 
cent might  laugh  at  in  her  mother,  she  never  laughed  at  that. 
Only,  unfortunately,  she  made  a  bad  use  of  the  respect  which 
she  could  not  help  feeling.  She  despised  her  mother  for 
thinking  too  little  of  this  world,  and  her  father  for  thinking 
too  little  of  the  next." 

"  She  has  turned  out  to  be  disagreeable  enough  between 
the  two,"  I  said. 

"  Yes ;  though  there  is  better  stuff  in  her  than  you  might 
fancy :  but  she  is  not  likely  to  be  much  comfort  to  either  if 
trouble  should  come ;  which  is  the  reason,  Ursie,  why  I 
wanted  you  to  be  near  Mrs.  Weu-,  if  it  could  be,  at  least  for 
a  time.  She  would  have  more  help  from  you  than  she  would 
ever  get  from  her  daughter." 


URSULA.  83 

"  But  what  is  coining  ?  "  I  asked  quickly. 

"  That  is  what  I  can't  say,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  not  at 
liberty;  and  I  don't  want  to  urge  you  against  anything 
which  Roger  and  William  may  consider  right :  but  they  will 
be  likely  to  think  most  of  you,  and  I  want  you  to  think  a 
little  of  Mrs.  Weir.  I  told  Roger  I  should  say  this  to  you, 
and  he  did  not  object." 

"  I  will  stand  by  her  through  everything,"  I  exclaimed. 
"  She  has  been  as  kind  to  me  as  a  mother." 

"  And  you  won't  repent  it,"  he  replied.  "  There  is  great 
comfort  in  this  world  in  being  able  to  help  those  who  can't 
help  themselves." 

I  answered  heartily,  "  Yes,"  and  I  felt  the  colour  rush 
to  my  cheek,  whilst  my  heart  beat  very  fast.  I  could  have 
fought  against  an  army  just  then  in  defence  of  Mrs.  Weir. 

Mr.  Hervey  laughed  a  little,  and  said  he  felt  I  was  a 
host  on  any  one's  side ;  but  I  think  he  had  deeper  and  sad- 
der thoughts  in  his  mind,  for  he  stood  still,  thinking  and 
looking  grave,  which  was  very  unlike  him,  and  quite  started 
when  Roger,  and  Jane,  and  Jessie  came  up  bantering,  and 
asking  what  made  us  keep  so  far  ahead. 

We  were  at  Hatton  Lane  gate  then,  and  there  we  were  to 
part  company.  Mr.  Hervey  and  I  were  a  great  contrast  to 
the  others.  They  were  so  merry,  and  Jessie  said  they  had 
had  a  delightful  walk.  As  she  stood  leaning  by  the  gate,  not 
willing,  I  could  see,  to  go  through,  and  saying  good-bye  to 
Mr.  Hervey,  I  thought  what  a  pretty  picture  she  would  make, 
and  I  made  Roger  remark  her,  and  he  looked  pleased  that  I 
should  notice  her  kindly,  and  said  that  she  was  too  nice  a 
girl  to  be  left  to  Jane  Shaw ;  he  wished  I  would  become  her 
friend.  I  took  but  little  notice  of  his  words,  for  I  had  no 
thought  to  give  to  any  one  but  Mrs.  Weir. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

Roger  and  I  went  back  to  Sandcombe  alone.  Mr.  Hervey 
had  some  business  at  Compton,  and  walked  home  that  way. 
William  was  out  in  the  yard  giving  orders  to  one  of  his  cart- 


84  URSULA, 

ers ;  but  he  left  off  directly  he  saw  us,  and  made  Roger  go 
with  him  to  look  at  a  new  threshing  machine  which  was 
just  put  up.  He  told  me  I  should  find  Leah  in  the  house  ; 
so  I  went  in. 

I  found  her  in  the  little  parlour,  alone  and  working.  I 
think  she  was  not  sorry  to  be  interrupted,  for  she  was  very 
gracious,  and  wondered  why  I  had  not  been  to  see  her 
lately. 

I  told  her  I  had  been  busy,  what  with  keeping  the  cot- 
tage in  order,  and  cooking,  and  needlework,  and  that  now 
the  family  were  at  Dene,  there  was  more  than  usual  to  at- 
tend to. 

"  You  should  not  make  yourself  a  slave,  Ursie,"  she  re- 
plied. "  Jane  Shaw  and  I  were  talking  about  it  the  other 
day.  She  says,  and  I  quite  agree  with  her,  that  the  Weirs 
treat  you  as  nothing  better  than  a  servant,  and  that  if  you 
were  to  hold  your  head  higher,  you  might  have  as  much  re- 
spect paid  you  as  she  has." 

"  A  little  more,  I  hope,"  was  my  answer. 

"  You  need  not  be  so  proud,  Ursie.  I  don't  see  what 
right  you  have  to  look  down  upon  the  Shaws  in  the 
way  you  do ;  it  is  not  at  all  fitting  for  a  girl  of  your  age." 

"  I  don't  want  to  look  down  upon  any  one,"  I  replied ; 
"  it  is  the  Shaws  who  look  down  upon  me.  And,  you  know," 
I  added,  laughing,  "  if  people  will  walk  about  in  stilts,  one 
is  forced  to  do  the  same  to  be  even  with  them." 

"  The  Shaws  are  higher  in  the  world  than  you  are,  or 
are  ever  likely  to  be,  whilst  you  live  shut  up  at  Dene,"  con- 
tinued Leah.  "  I  don't  mean  to  approve  of  all  Jane  does  ; 
I  told  her  the  other  day  that  she  went  into  Hove  too  often, 
and  made  herself  too  much  noticed  by  her  smart  dress." 

"  Yet  you  don't  object  to  Jessie's  going  with  her,"  I  said. 

"  Jessie's  doings  are  not  my  concern,"  replied  Leah.  (It 
was  not  strictly  tru6,  for  she  really  had  more  control  over 
Jessie  than  any  one.)  "  Not  but  what  if  they  were,  I  doubt 
if  I  should  think  it  wise  to  stop  her,  when  every  now  and 
then  she  has  the  chance  of  a  little  pleasure.  She  must 
look  out  for  herself.  She  will  have  to  make  her  way  in  the 
world,  and  we  must  give  her  the  opportimity  of  gaining 
friends." 


URSULA.  85 

"  Or  a  husband,"  I  said,  sharply. 

But  Leah  was  not  put  out.  "  Yes,  or  a  husband !  It 
would  be  a  very  good  thing  for  Jessie  to  be  married, — there 
is  no  doubt  of  that ; — and  she  is  more  likely  to  meet  with 
persons  who  will  take  to  her  if  she  is  allowed  to  see  a  little 
of  the  world,  than  if  she  stays  all  the  year  at  Hatton." 

Leah  said  this  so  boldly  that,  for  the  instant,  I  was 
caught  by  her  words,  and  felt  she  might  have  truth  on  her 
side ;  but  a  second  thought  brought  me  round  to  my  former 
mind. 

"  For  twenty  husbands,"  I  said,  "  I  would  not  go  to 
Hove  on  a  Saturday,  to  flaunt  about  the  streets  with  Jane 
Shaw,  and  have  all  the  idle  folks  in  the  country  gossiping 
about  me." 

"  You  are  jealous,  Ursie,"  said  Leah,  with  some  meaning, 
"  Jane  Shaw  is  handsome  enough  and  clever  enough  to  have 
persons  going  after  her  who  would  never  look  at  you." 

"  Very  likely,"  I  said,  carelessly,  not  choosing  to  show 
that  I  was  annoyed ;  though  I  must  own  that,  as  Leah  spoke, 
I  glanced  at  the  old  mirror  over  the  fireplace  to  see  if  I  was 
really  so  plain  that  no  one  would  ever  look  at  me. 

"  We  won't  talk  about  it,"  said  Leah,  in  a  quiet,  pro- 
voking tone,  which  I  knew  meant  that  it  was  not  worth 
while  to  argue  with  me.  "  You  will  be  sorry  some  day  for 
your  bitterness  against  the  Shaws.  Is  Roger  come  over 
upon  any  particular  business  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  is,"  I  replied.  "  We  walked  over  the 
down  to  Hatton  Gate  before  we  came  here,  with  Jane  Shaw, 
and  Mr.  Hervey,  and  Jessie  ;  and,  now  I  think  of  it,  Leah, 
Jessie  asked  me  to  recommend  you  a  girl  for  the  dairy  if  I 
could.     Is  Kitty  Hobson  going  away  ?  " 

I  said  this  rather  to  divert  Leah's  attention  from  Roger's 
business  ;  and  it  served  my  purpose.  She  answered  quickly, 
"  Kitty  went  yesterday ;  she  turned  out  good  for  nothing, 
and  I  could  not  keep  her.  It  is  the  case  with  them  all.  I 
wonder  sometimes  what  is  the  good  of  all  the  learning  the 
girls  get  at  school ;  it  does  not  teach  "one  in  twenty  to  be 
respectable." 

I  could  not  help  thinking  there  might  be  some  fault  in 
the  teaching  of  the  girls  after  they  left  school.     Leah  had 


86  URSULA. 

only  lately  sent  away  an  upper  servant  who  was  a  great  deal 
worse  than  idle,  and  whose  character  she  well  knew,  but 
whom  she  kept  because  of  her  cleverness.  Kitty  Hobson 
had  been  under  her,  and  no  doubt  had  learnt  much  evil  from 
her. 

I  hesitated,  and  then  I  said,  "  Kitty  must  have  had  a 
bad  example  since  she  left  school." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Leah,  misunderstanding  me.  "  Her 
parents  are  people  of  no  thought,  and  the  cottage  is  a  perfect 
pig-stye  ;  and  they  live  altogether  more  like  pigs  than  human 
beings.  As  for  Kitty,  she  never  had  a  notion  of  behaving 
like  a  decent  girl.  Martha  says  it  was  a  disgrace  to  be  with 
her.  If  Mr.  Richardson  would  look  after  his  school,  and 
not  spend  his  time  in  planning  new  cottages,  we  shouldn't 
hear  the  tales  of  Compton  that  we  do." 

"  It  must  be  a  hard  matter  to  learn  decent  habits  when 
they  are  all  crowded  together  in  that  fashion,"  I  said ;  "  how 
many  in  a  room  are  there  ?  " 

"  Hobson,  and  his  wife,  and  Kitty,  and  Charles,  and  the 
baby.  Lately,  they  have  put  Henry  Hobson  to  sleep  in  the 
little  out-house." 

"  And  it  is  William's  cottage,  isn't  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes  ;  more's  the  pity.  Mr.  Richardson  was  over  here 
last  week  talking  to  William,  in  a  way  that  I  thought  very 
impertinent,  about  building  another  room,  and  at  last  Wil- 
liam was  quite  put  out  with  him,  and  said  plainly  that  it 
was  no  use  doing  anything  for  people  like  the  Hobsous.  He 
might  have  said  that  it  was  no  use  giving  money  to  Mr. 
Richardson's  school.  He  told  me  afterwards,  indeed,  that 
he  had  more  than  half  a  mind  to  withdraw  his  subscription, 
— you  know  we  pay  five  shillings  a-year  to  Compton 
school ; — and  I  think  he  will  be  right  since  Kitty  Hobson 
has  turned  out  so  badly,  for  it's  a  shame  to  think  that  she 
was  brought  up  there." 

Leah  always  had  right  on  her  side,  in  her  own  opinion, 
but  I  could  not  help  feeling  for  Mrs.  Hobson,  who  was  a 
hardworking  woman,  and  not  at  all  strong,  and  I  secretly 
made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  go  and  see  her,  and  inquire 
into  the  story  before  long.  Perhaps,  between  Mrs.  Rich- 
ardson and  the  Kemps,  something  might  be  done  to  give 


URSULA.  87 

Kitty  a  helping  hand,  for  I  only  understood,  from  what 
Leah  said,  that  she  was  unsteady  and  careless  in  her 
habits. 

Leah  was  peculiar  in  her  ways  of  management  in  all 
these  matters.  She  allowed  things  to  go  on  as  they  might 
for  a  long  time,  and  then  suddenly,  without  warning,  a  girl 
was  turned  oflf.  I  felt  with  her  that  it  would  not  do  to  keep 
one  who  was  not  well-conducted,  and  I  had  often  wondered 
at  the  carelessness  which  some  of  the  farmers'  wives  showed 
about  their  servants,  but  I  did  think  that  some  pains  ought 
to  be  taken  first  to  bring  them  into  the  right  way.  Leah 
saw  that  I  took  a  different  view  of  the  case  from  her,  and  it 
made  her  cross.  She  said,  pettishly,  that  she  wondered 
what  William  and  Roger  could  have  to  talk  about  so  long, 
she  should  go  and  see,  and  she  left  the  room. 

I  felt  very  sad  when  I  was  left  alone ;  what  Mr.  Hervey 
had  told  me  about  Mrs.  Weir  rested  in  my  mind,  and  I  had 
a  feeling  that  changes  and  trouble  were  coming  upon  me. 
But  even  more  than  this,  it  always  put  me  in  low  spirits — at 
least  as  far  as  anything  could,  for  I  was  very  cheerful  natu- 
rally— to  be  at  Sandcome. 

There  was  something  about  it  which  so  often  brought  to 
my  mind  the  story  of  the  rich  man  and  Lazarus.  How 
William  would  have  laughed  if  I  had  said  so  to  him  !  He, 
rich  ? — why,  he  believed  himself  to  be  just  struggling  to 
keep  his  head  above  water.  A  high  rent  to  give  for  his 
laud,  upon  which  sums  of  money  had  been  spent,  his  stock 
to  be  kept  up,  his  labourers  to  be  paid ;  to  say  nothing  of 
taxes,  enough  to  ruin  a  man — land-tax,  and  poor-rate,  and 
church-rate,  and  taxes  for  houses  and  servants. — it  was  ab- 
surd to  speak  of  being  rich !  And  besides,  if  he  was  well 
off  one  year,  who  was  to  answer  for  the  next  ?  Everything 
depended  upon  the  weather,  which,  if  it  did  well  for  one 
crop,  was  sure  to  do  badly  for  another.  What  was  good  for 
hay  was  bad  for  turnips, — that  every  one  knew.  To  hear 
William  talk,  you  would  have  thought  it  was  only  by  a 
miracle  he  was  saved  from  the  workhouse.  But,  in  spite  of 
all,  the  Bible  story  would  return  to  me.  There  was  Leah, 
after  her  day's  work,  sitting  at  ease  in  her  comfortable  lit- 
tle parlour,  having  had  a  good  dinner  and  tea,  and  expecting 


eb  URSULA. 

a  good  supper ;  finding  for  herself  just  employment  enough 
to  prevent  time  from  hanging  heavy  on  her  hands — for  there 
was  a  new  bonnet  lying  cm  the  table,  with  the  ribbon  beside 
it  with  which  it  was  to  be  trimmed — no  one  to  interrupt 
her ;  people  about  her  willing  to  do  what  she  told  them  ;  a 
nice  little  chaise  ready  to  take  her  where  she  liked  to  go ; 
a  cart  and  a  waggon  ready  to  be  sent  for  whatever  she  chose 
to  order ;  a  husband  whose  great  fault  and  misfortune  was 
that  he  let  her  have  her  own  way.  If  it  was  not  being  rich, 
it  was  being  quite  comfortable  without  riches. 

But  it  was  all  very  proper  and  respectable ;  there  was  no 
sin  in  it.  I  never  heard,  though,  that  the  rich  man  in  the 
parable  committed  any  great  sin  :  he  only  let  Lazarus  lie  at 
his  gate. 

Kitty  Hobson,  however,  was  not  like  Lazarus ;  she  was 
good  for  nothing,  so  Leah  said.  Why  was  Leah  to  trouble 
herself  about  her  ?  Why  might  not  Kitty  be  sent  back  to 
her  home,  to  sleep  in  the  little  loft  with  her  father,  and 
brother,  and  mother,  and  the  baby  ?  What  matter  was  it  to 
Leah  that  the  girl  could  not  learn  decent  habits  if  she  wish- 
ed it  ?  She  was  good  for  nothing  already,  What  was  the 
use  of  trying  to  keep  her  from  becoming  worse  ?  When 
Leah  lay  down  to  sleep  on  her  soft  bed  in  the  wholesome  at- 
mosphere of  her  large  room,  why  need  she  vex  herself  with 
thinking  of  the  little  crowded  attic  in  which  five  living  be- 
ings were  to  pass  the  night  ?  If  the  rain  pelted  against  the 
window,  why  need  she  remember  that  there  was  a  hole  in  the 
roof  of  Hobson's  cottage,  and  that  the  drops  would  fall  upon 
Kitty's  bed  ?  If  the  wind  blew,  there  were  shutters  and  a 
curtain  at  Sandcombe  Farm,  the  walls  were  thick,  and  the 
crevices  carefully  stopped.  That  was  comfort  for  Leah ;  and 
as  for  Kitty  Hobson,  she  was  accustomed  to  the  breezes  of 
summer  and  the  storms  of  winter,  for  the  cottage  was  so  old 
that  it  was  more  worth  William's  while  to  let  it  tumble  to 
pieces  than  to  attempt  to  mend  it. 

And  then,  if  Kitty  was  worthless,  it  was  no  use  to  think 
of  improving  her.  It  might  do  Leah  some  good  to  say  her 
prayers,  for  she  could  kneel  down  quietly,  and  think  serious- 
ly of  what  she  was  about ;  but  what  was  the  good  of  talking 
to  Kitty  about  prayers  and  the  Bible  ?     She  had  no  doubt 


URSULA.  89 

given  up  any  right  practice  she  might  have  learnt  at  school. 
There  would  be  her  father  talking  to  her  mother  when  she 
could  have  prayed ;  or  the  baby  crying,  or  Charles  complain- 
ing that  he  could  not  go  to  sleep ;  and  when  she  got  up  in 
the  morning  it  would  be  the  same,  or  rather  worse,  for  they 
must  all  be  dressing  in  the  same  room,  huddling  on  their 
clothes,  crying  out  for  breakfast,  and  scolding  Kitty  because 
the  fire  was  not  lighted.  If  she  had  wished  to  say  her  pray- 
ers, she  could  not  possibly  have  found  a  quiet  moment  or  a 
quiet  place.  But  she  did  not  want  it, — she  was  good  for 
nothing ! 

Leah  might  have  been  right;  but  I  thought  of  the  rich 
man,  nevertheless. 

William  came  in  alone,  after  I  had  been  about  ten  min- 
utes by  myself.  He  sat  down  in  his  large  elbow-chair,  as 
though  he  was  tired,  and  laid  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  and 
thought  for  some  seconds.  Presently  he  said,  "  Hard  times, 
Ursie,  aren't  they  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  you  find  them  so,"  I  replied ;  "  I  don't  know 
that  they  are  so  particularly  hard  at  Dene." 

"  Just  what  I  have  been  saying  to  Roger,"  he  replied. 
"  When  you  have  a  certain  sum  coming  in,  be  it  ever  so 
small,  you  are  better  off  than  running  a  risk,  as  one  must  in 
taking  a  farm." 

"  Is  that  what  Roger  thinks  ?  "  I  inquired,  hastily.  "  He 
is  come  over  with  some  plan,  I  know." 

"  Roger  has  the  Canada  fancy  again,"  replied  William ; 
and  he  fi^ed  his  eyes  upon  me  keenly,  to  see  by  my  face  what 
I  felt. 

My  colour  may  have  changed ;  I  won't  say  that  it  did 
not.  But  I  was  upon  my  guard  to  conceal  my  feelings : 
whatever  they  were,  they  were  to  be  told  to  Roger  first.  So 
I  answered  quietly,  "  Has  he  ?     He  never  told  me  about  it." 

"  Then  he  had  better  come  and  tell  you  now,"  said  Wil- 
liam; and  he  rose  up  slowly  from  his  chair  and  went  into 
the  kitchen,  and  called  Roger  and  Leah,  who  were  talking 
together  outside  the  house. 

I  sat  still.  I  would  not  appear  impatient  or  put  out ; 
but  my  heart  grew  sick,  and  a  pang  went  through  it ;  for  I 
felt  that  Roger  had  not  treated  me  kindly. 


90  URSULA. 

Roger  stepped  into  the  room  first ;  and  before  I  could 
make  up  my  mind  to  look  up  and  speak  to  him,  I  felt  his 
hand  laid  upon  my  shoulder,  and  heard  him  say,  in  a  tone 
which  he  tried  to  make  light,  "  Thei'e's  nothing  settled  yet, 
Trot;  so  don't  be  cast  down." 

"  I  had  rather  hear  it  all  from  you,  Roger,"  I  said,  re- 
proachfully.    "  You  shouldn't  leave  others  to  tell  me." 

"  I  didn't  mean  it,  Ursie ;  I  didn't  mean  it.  It  is  a 
thought  just  of  an  hour, — nothing  more, — and  it  may  go  to 
the  winds  before  to-morrow." 

"  But  I  may  be  spoken  to  plainly,"  I  replied ;  "  I  am  not 
a  child,  and  I  can  bear  things." 

"  Bravely,  Ursie.  Not  a  woman  in  England  better,"  said 
Roger ;  "  and  you  should  have  heard  it  all  before  night ;  only 
William  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag." 

"  I  was  rather  curious  to  see  how  she  would  take  it,  I 
must  own,"  said  William. 

"  Ursie  is  a  sensible  woman,"  said  Leah,  sharply. 

People  always  say  one  is  sensible  when  they  are  going  to 
give  particularly  disagreeable  advice. 

"  If  you  will  speak  out,"  I  said,  "  I  will  show  whether  I 
am  sensible  or  not.     What  do  you  all  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  Stay  and  live  here  with  us,  if  Roger  goes  to  Canada," 
said  Leah,  bluntly.  And  Roger  bowed  his  head  upon  his 
hands,  for  it  seemed  he  dared  not  look  at  me. 

I  don't  think  I  answered  directly ;  but  when  I  did,  I 
know  that  my  voice  sounded,  even  to  myself,  quite  changed. 

"  I  thank  you,  Leah,  for  speaking  out,"  I  said.  "  I  will 
do  what  Roger  wishes.  If  I  am  to  be  a  help  to  him,  I  will 
go ;  if  I  am  to  be  a  hindrance,  I  will  stay ; — not  here,"  I 
added,  quickly,  for  Leah  was  going  to  praise  me  for  agreeing 
with  her  ; — "  I  will  do  something  to  be  independent ;  if  there 
is  nothing  else,  I  will  go  to  service." 

William  uttered  a  low  whistle  of  surprise.  Roger  only 
took  my  hand,  and  held  it  very  tight. 

"  Then  you  will  be  the  first  of  the  Grants  that  ever  so 
demeaned  herself,"  said  Leah. 

"  Better  come  with  me,  Ursie,  than  do  that,"  said  Roger, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes,  better  indeed,"  I  exclaimed  vehemently,  "  a  thou- 


URSULA.  91 

sand  times  better,  Roger,  go  with  you  to  the  world's  end, 
than  stay  behind  to  be  a  queen.  And  why  mustn't  I  go  ?  I 
have  hands  and  health,  and  care  nothing  for  hardships.  I 
will  work  to  the  last  hour  that  God  gives  me  strength ;  why 
mustn't  I  go  ?  " 

"  Because  it's  all  a  chance,"  said  William,  "  and  Roger 
knows  it.  He  may  just  as  likely  be  a  ruined  man  as  a  rich 
one." 

"  Then  we  will  be  ruined  together,"  I  exclaimed. 

"That  wouldn't  help  me,  Ursie,"  said  Roger;  and  he 
looked  up  at  me  with  what  tried  to  be  a  smile,  but  it  was 
not  one. 

"  I  don't  see  that  there  is  a  question  of  ruin  for  any  one," 
exclaimed  Leah,  rather  contemptuously.  "  Roger  has 
money  to  set  out  with  if  he  chooses  to  go,  and  no  doubt  he 
will  do  better  at  first  alone.  What  is  to  come  after,  may  be 
left,  if  Ursie  won't  ride  the  high  horse,  and  be  too  proud  to 
find  a  home  with  her  own  brother." 

"  I  am  not  too  proud,"  I  said  hastily,"  and  I  have  proved 
it  Who  has  been  Roger's  servant  up  to  this  time  ?  and 
who  will  continue  so  to  his  dying  day  if  he  will  only  say 
yes  ?  " 

"  A  man  who  sets  out  as  a  colonist  can't  afford  to  keep  a 
servant,"  said  William.  "  If  Roger  is  bent  upon  this  wild 
plan,  he  must  go  alone,  Ursie." 

I  couldn't  understand  William's  tone  at  all.  I  had 
fancied  before  that  he  upheld  Roger's  notion.  He  was  going 
to  say  more,  when  Roger  started  from  his  seat  and  stood  up 
before  me.  The  sadness  in  his  face  was  gone,  and  he  looked 
like  himself,  fit  and  willing  to  brave  the  world.  "  We  have 
not  been  fair  upon  you,  Ursie,"  he  said;  "you  have  been 
taken  by  surprise.  We  should  have  talked  this  matter  over 
alone,  and  we  will  do  it  now.  Leah,  you  have  been  kind  in 
olfering  a  helping  hand  ;  and  thank  you  for  it.  Good  night, 
William;  you  shall  hear  more  about  this  to-morrow."  He 
walked  out  of  the  room,  and  through  the  passage  into  the 
yard,  not  once  looking  round  to  see  if  I  was  following  him. 
William  seemed  thoroughly  vexed.  Leah  was  only  rather 
grave;  she  just  said,  "I  hope,  Ursie,  whatever  you  resolve 
upon,  you  will  consider  the  credit  of  the  family,"  and  then 
she  let  me  depart. 


92  URSULA 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

Instead  of  turning  into  the  turf  road  to  Dene,  Roger 
said,  when  we  reached  it,  "  The  moon  will  be  up  in  a  few 
minutes,  Ursie;  we  might  get  to  the  top  of  St,  Anne's  and 
look  at  it."  These  were  the  first  words  he  had  spoken,  and 
I  had  not  interrupted  his  silence.  I  felt  that  he  wanted 
time  to  set  himself  right.  That  conversation  had  for  some 
reason  or  other  disturbed  him,  more  almost  than  I  should 
have  expected.  And  it  was  a  quieting  walk  along  the  ridge 
of  the  down ;  it  was  growing  very  dark,  but  the  sky  was  clear, 
and  one  or  two  stars  were  to  be  seen  gleaming  very  faintly. 
I  could  just  distinguish  between  the  trees,  the  Abbey  Farm, 
and  a  dark  spot  which  I  knew  must  be  the  tower  of  Compton 
Church ;  and  out  in  the  distance,  where  there  was  a  glowing 
sheet  of  yellow  light  along  the  horizon,  the  white  clifis  stood 
up  mistily,  their  outline  mixing  with  the  sky. 

"  Now,  Ursie,  give  me  your  hand,"  said  Roger,  as  we 
stood  at  the  foot  of  St.  Anne's  Hill.  The  way  was  steep  ; 
he  dragged  me  up  after  him,  taking  c^re  to  avoid  the  chalk- 
pit, and  every  now  and  then  bidding  me  stop  to  rest — 
though  I  scarcely  needed  it.  When  we  reached  the  Oratory, 
he  made  me  lean  against  the  wall.  The  moon  had  risen, 
though  as  yet  it  cast  no  reflection ;  but  a  pale  light  was 
spread  over  the  vast  expanse  of  waters,  and  white  curling 
waves  could  be  seen  dashing  upon  the  shingles,  and  scattering 
their  spray  into  the  air.  Roger  took  off  his  hat,  and  passed 
his  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"  We  may  well  look  at  the  sea,  Ursie,"  he  said  ;  "  it  wiU 
be  the  highroad  between  us  before  long." 

"  Never,"  I  answered  firmly ;  "  my  mind  is  made  up, 
Roger." 

"  But  not  mine.     William  is  right ;  it  is  a  risk." 

"  Then  William  should  not  urge  you  to  go,"  I  said. 

"  He  does  not.  You  heard  him  call  it  a  wild  notion  ;  |j^^ 
thinks  I  can  stay  at  Dene."  *^' 

"  And  why  can't  you  ?  We  have  one  lot  in  life,  Roger ; 
I  ought  to  know." 


URSULA.  93 

"  Mr.  Weir  is  a  ruined  man  ;  or  if  he  is  not  now,  he  must 
be  before  many  weeks  are  over.  John  Hervey  knows  it,  and 
came  to  tell  me  of  it.  Does  it  startle  you,  Ursie  ?  "  and  he 
put  his  arm  round  me,  and  drew  me  close  to  him,  and  kissed 
me. 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  it  does  not  startle  me  ;  nothing  that 
I  could  hear  of  Mr.  Weir  would.  But  his  wife — Miss  Mili- 
cent," — my  heart  was  full,  I  could  not  say  more  ;  and  John 
Hervey's  story  and  my  own  words  came  to  my  mind  re- 
proachfully. 

"  It's  bitter  enough  for  them,"  he  said ;  "  but  we  must 
think  of  ourselves,  Ursie ;  or,  at  least,  I  am  bound  to  think 
of  you." 

"  And  we  can't  help  them  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Not  without  doing  ourselves  harm,  so  far  as  I  can  see 
now.     At  least,  I  can't." 

"  But  I  can,  and  that  is  what  Mr.  Harvey  meant,"  I 
said,  "  when  he  talked  to  me." 

"  John  Hervey  is  against  your  going  with  me,"  was  his 
answer.  "  Whatever  he  may  have  said  about  Mrs.  Weir  is 
only  second  in  his  thoughts;  his  fii'st  notion  is  that  you 
are  safer  in  England,  at  least  for  a  while.  William  and 
Leah, — they  all  think  so.'* 

"  And  Roger  thinks  what  ?  "  I  said ;  and  I  leaned  my 
hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  partly  raised  myself,  that  I 
might  look  into  his  face,  and  see  clearly  what  he  meant. 

"  Roger  is  a  fool !  "  he  said,  in  a  husky  voice.  "  Ursie, 
I  can't  live  alone." 

All  the  love  which  had  been  lying  deep  in  my  heart  for 
years  seemed,  at  that  moment,  to  gather  itself  up  into  one 
overwhelming  torrent.  "  Let  the  whole  world  be  against  me, 
and  I  will  go  ! "  I  exclaimed :  "  God  made  us  brother  and 
sister ;  He  taught  us  to  love  one  another,  and  it  can't  be  His 
will  that  we  should  part." 

He  pressed  me  to  him  more  closely,  but  he  did  not 
answer. 

"  Is  it  not  true  ?  "  I  continued  eagerly.  "  Have  you  any- 
thing to  say  against  it  ?  If  God  has  joined  us  together,  why 
are  we  to  be  put  asunder  ?  " 

"  That  is  said  of  husband  and  wife,  not  of  brother  and 
sister,"  he  replied. 


94  URSULA. 

"And  if  I  were  your  wife,  you  would   take  me  with 


you 


9  » 


"  I  should  feel  it  my  duty,"  was  the  answer. 

It  was  my  turn  then  to  be  silent;  neither  of  us,  indeed, 
spoke  for  some  seconds.  At  last  I  said,  bitterly,  "  A  wife 
couldn't  love  you  better  that  I  do,  Roger  !  " 

"  May  be  not,"  he  replied.  The  words  must  have  struck 
him  as  cold,  for  he  added,  "  You  love  me  a  thousand  times 
more  than  I  deserve,  Ursie,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  I  am 
to  take  advantage  of  you  to  lead  you  into  hardships." 

"  I  shall  walk  iuto  them  with  my  eyes  open,"  I  replied, 
"  I  am  not  a  girl  now,  I  am  a  woman ;  I  know  what  I  can 
bear — everything,  Roger,  except  that  you  shouldn't  love  me." 

"  Then  you  have  little  enough  to  fear  in  life,"  he  said ; 
"  but,  Ursie,  it  won't  do  to  think  only  of  our  love.  There  is 
a  safer  rule,  though  not  such  a  pleasant  one, — what  we  can 
afford." 

"  I  shall  be  no  expense  to  you,"  I  replied ;  "  and  every 
one  knows  how  useful  a  woman  is  in  a  new  country." 

"  Yes,  in  some  ways ;  but  it  is  all  an  experiment.  If  I 
take  you,  I  must  pay  your  passage,  and  fit  you  out,  and  all 
our  travelling  will  be  doubled,  and  I  must  be  more  careful 
as  to  lodging.  If  I  go  by  myself,  I  may  find  a  shelter  any- 
where, I  shall  not  care  where  I  am ;  but  if  I  have  you  with 
me,  I  shall  never  bear  that  you  should  want  comforts ;  and 
then,  if  the  scheme  should  fail,  there  will  be  the  expense  of 
coming  back  again." 

"  Then  why  go  at  all,  if  it  is  to  fail?  "  I  said,  rather  per- 
versely. 

"  Because  it's  the  best  opening  a  man  in  my  circum- 
stances can  have." 

"  And  if  you  were  married,  you  would  still  go,  and  take 
your  wife  ?  " 

,"  Even  so  ;  a  family  man  has  a  much  better  chance  in  a 
new  country  than  an  old  one." 

"  But  you  are  not  married,  and  you  have  no  family." 

"  No  reason  why  I  mayn't  be  married  some  day,  you 
know,  Trot,"  and  he  laughed. 

"  No  reason,"  I  answered  quietly ;  but  it  seemed  that  a 
dagger  went  through  my  heart. 


URSULA.  95 

I  don't  know  whether  Roger  suspected  it,  but  he  went 
on  :  "  There  is  no  good  in  looking  on  into  the  future,  Trot ; 
we  have  lived  very  happily  hitherto,  and,  please  God,  we  will 
be  happy  yet.  My  wife's  wedding  clothes  are  not  made,  nor 
likely  to  be  ;  and,  in  the  meantime,  there  is  nothing  I  want 
but  Ursie :  and  if  all  goes  well,  by  this  time  twelvemonth 
I  may  be  writing  to  you  from  over  the  sea,  asking  you  to  come 
to  me  ;  and  then  I  don't  think  you  will  say  no.  And  you 
know,"  he  added,  "  that  a  wife,  if  I  had  one,  couldn't  take  up 
so  much  room  but  what  there  would  always  be  a  corner  for 
you." 

He  was  a  man  ;  he  did  not  know  a  woman's  heart,  and  he 
thought  he  had  comforted  me  by  those  words. 

"  Then  it  is  settled ;  you  are  going,"  I  answered ;  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  say  thank  you  for  what  he  had  been  oflfer- 
ing  me. 

"  Not  at  all  settled,"  he  replied ;  "  it  depends  partly  upon 
William,  and  getting  the  money  together.  You  know  now 
a  good  deal  is  laid  out  upon  his  farm,  and  I  don't  want  to 
put  him  to  inconvenience.  That  is  one  reason  why  I  said 
nothing  to  you  ;  I  felt  the  plan  might  never  come  to  anything ; 
and  there  was  no  use  in  troubling  you  before  the  time." 

"  You  would  not  have  treated  your  wife  so,"  I  said,  re- 
proachfully. He  was  very  quick  at  catching  any  change  in 
my  voice. 

"  Oh,  Ursie  ! — jealous !  "  He  laughed,  and  patted  me  on  tho 
back,  as  though  I  had  been  a  child. 

My  pride  was  touched  ;  and  I  drew  back  from  him.  "  I 
only  wish,"  I  said,  "  to  have  common  trust  placed  in  me.  If 
I  am  worth  anything,  Roger,  I  am  worth  that ;  and  I  have 
never  kept  back  a  thought  from  you." 

"  Nor  I  from  you,  Ursie,"  he  answered,  gravely.  "  It 
shouldn't  have  been  so  now  if  I  had  guessed  for  a  moment 
that  you  would  take  it  to  heart.  As  to  a  wife,  the  notion  is 
too  silly  to  talk  about.  Twenty  wives  wouldn't  do  for  me 
what  my  little  Trot  has  done."  And  then  he  gave  me  what 
I  used  to  call  one  of  his  bear's  hugs,  and  I  prayed  him  to  be 
merciful ;  and  said,  laughing,  yet  being  more  inclined  to  cry, 
that  I  wouldn't  wish  him  a  worse  punishment  than  one  wife ; 
for  he  did  not  know  the  least  about  women's  ways,  and  he  had 
been  quite  spoilt. 


96  URSULA. 

"  True,  perhaps,  Ursie,"  he  said,  thoughtfully ;  and  I  felt 
comforted,  though  not  happy. 

We  stood  together  for  some  minutes  afterwards,  watching 
the  glimmering  of  the  moonlight  which  was  just  beginning  to 
mark  a  path  upon  the  sea.  I  think  we  were  both  glad  to  for- 
get for  a  while  that  there  was  anything  else  to  be  thought 
about.  The  light  streamed  doubtfully  at  first,  seeming  to 
catch  only  the  crests  of  the  waves ;  and  then  a  cloud  passed, 
and  it  was  quite  hidden,  and  a  deep  shadow  rested  upon  the 
water  ;  from  which,  after  a  few  minutes,  broke  forth  at  inter- 
vals glittering  lines  and  bright  islands  of  pale  glory,  till  at 
length  once  more  the  moon  rose  high  and  clear ;  and  the  broad 
sparkling  pathway  was  traced  in  one  unbroken  flood  of  silvery 
light  across  the  ocean. 

"  Do  you  see  it,  Ursie  ?  "  said  Roger ;  and  he  pointed  to 
a  tiny  vessel  making  its  way  across  the  Ocean.  "  How 
lonely  it  looks  !  " 

"  Not  lonely,"  I  said ;  "  there  is  another  following  it. 
Now  they  are  coming  into  the  light ;  they  are  close  together." 
I  heard  Roger  sigh. 

"  They  are  going  in  the  same  direction,"  I  added ;  "  they 
must  be  bound  for  the  same  port.  If  storms  come  they  will 
help  each  other.     You  would  not  part  them,  Roger  ?  " 

"  It  is  growing  very  late,  Ursie,  we  must  be  going,"  was 
his  only  answer.  We  left  the  shelter  of  the  ruined  Oratory ; 
and  as  the  cold  breeze  was  felt  on  the  open  hill,  Roger  said 
earnestly,  "  I  shouldn't  feel  the  chill,  Ursie,  if  you  were  not 
here  to  share  it.     It  may  be  better  to  be  lonely  after  all." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

I  WAS  awakened  next  morning  by  a  loud  knocking  at  the 
cottage  door.  It  must  have  been  about  half-past  five  o'clock, 
for  I  was  very  sound  asleep,  and  I  always  woke  by  myself 
before  six.  I  waited  to  hear  if  Roger  would  move,  and  not 
hearing  him,  I  supposed  he  must  have  dressed  and  gone  out 
before,  and  as  quickly  as  I  could  I  went  down-stairs  myself, 
thinking  that  most  likely  it  was  Fanny  come  over  from  the 
house  for  something  she  wanted. 


URSULA.  97 

When  I  opened  the  door  I  saw  not  Fanny  but  Miss  Mili- 
cent.  "Why  didn't  you  come,  Ursie,"  she  said;  "  I  have 
been  knocking  till  I  was  tired.  You  are  wanted ;  my 
mother  has  had  a  bad  night,  and  says  she  must  see  you  di- 
rectly. It  is  too  bad  for  a  girl  like  you  to  lie  in  bed  so 
long."  Miss  Milicent,  I  suppose,  thought  that  because  I 
worked  harder  I  needed  less  sleep  than  she  did.  I  could  see 
she  was  like  myself,  only  just  out  of  bed,  for  she  had  wrapped 
a  loose  kind  of  man's  great  coat  round  her,  the  sleeves  hang- 
ing down  helplessly  on  each  side;  and  some  locks  of  verj 
dishevelled  black  hair  escaped  from  under  her  garden-bonnet. 
I  had  learned  to  answer  her,  I  am  afraid,  a  little  in  her  own 
tone ;  so  I  said,  "  Does  Mrs.  Weir  want  me  before  I  am 
dressed.  Miss  Milicent  ?  " 

"  She  wants  you  at  once ;  I  have  been  up  with  her  half 
the  night.  Why  weren't  you  at  home  last  evening  ?  she 
wanted  you  then." 

"  T  had  business  at  Sandeombe,"  T  said ;  "  I  am  sorry 
Mrs.  Weir  wanted  me  last  night,  but  I  will  be  over  as  soon 
as  I  can  be  now." 

'•  And  I  shall  wait  for  you,"  said  Miss  Milicent ;  "  but 
mind  what  you  say  to  her,  Ursie  ;  she  can't  bear  to  be  con- 
tradicted ;  you  mustn't  put  her  out,  or  she  will  be  worse." 

Miss  Milicent  made  her  way  into  the  parlour,  and  I  went 
up-stairs  again  to  dress  as  quickly  as  I  could.  It  was  not 
very  unusual  for  me  to  be  called  in  this  way,  though  it  was 
seldom  quite  so  early.  They  all  knew  I  was  an  early  riser, 
and  Mrs.  Weir  every  now  and  then  sent  for  me  the  first 
thing  to  do  something  for  her  which  she  could  not  trust  to 
her  daughter.  I  must  confess  that  she  was  at  times  a  little 
given  to  whimsies.  But  Miss  Milicent's  manner  gave  me  an 
idea  of  something  more  than  ordinary,  and  my  conversation 
with  John  Hervey  had  frightened  me  about  what  was  com- 
ing upon  the  family.  I  could  not  dress  half  as  quickly  as  I 
wished,  my  hands  shook  so,  and  Miss  Milicent  called  to  me 
twice  before  I  was  ready.  I  would  not  go,  however,  without 
my  prayers ;  they  were  a  little  shorter  than  usual,  but  they 
comforted  me  with  the  feeling  that  I  had  trusted  myself  and 
others  to  God's  guidance  for  whatever  might  be  coming 
upon  us. 

Vol.  1—5 


98  URSULA. 

"  I  have  been  looking  at  your  furniture,  Ursie,"  said  Miss 
Milicent,  when  I  came  down-stairs  again.  "  Your  room  is 
crowded;  that  sofa  would  be  much  better  round  by  the 
fireplace." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Milicent,  but  it  does  very  well  where 
it  is ;  it  is  never  used  ;  and  Roger  and  I  like  to  sit  close  to 
the  fire  ourselves  when  it  is  cold." 

"  If  it's  no  use,  why  don't  you  get  rid  of  it  ?  you  might 
sell  it  for  as  much  as  four  pounds,  and  the  money  would  be 
useful  to  you  in  many  ways." 

"  I  dare  say  it  would,"  I  answered,  "  but  Roger  and  I 
like  the  sofa;  it  was  my  mother's." 

I  felt  sorry  when  I  had  said  the  words.  I  always  was 
sorry  in  those  days,  when  I  let  out  anything  of  feeling  before 
Miss  Milicent.  I  opened  the  door  for  her  to  go  out,  and  she 
went  on  before  me,  not  taking  any  heed  to  my  observation. 
Before  she  reached  the  house  she  turned  round  and  said,  "  If 
ever  you  want  to  part  with  the  sofa,  I  think  Mrs.  Richard- 
son would  be  likely  to  buy  it  of  you ;  she  wants  one." 

I  do  believe  Miss  Milicent  meant  it  kindly,  but  it  was 
beyond  my  patience  to  bear,  or  rather  it  would  have  been,  if 
I  had  not  made  it  part  of  my  prayer  to  be  able  to  put  up 
with  her.  I  answered,  "  Thank  you,"  very  shortly,  and  kept 
at  a  distance  from  her,  that  she  might  not  have  the  opportu- 
ty  of  saying  anything  more.  We  went  up-stairs  to  the 
lobby,  and  there  something  seemed  to  strike  Miss  Milicent, 
and  she  beckoned  me  to  come  to  her  into  the  peacock  room. 

There  were  the  birds  roosting  on  the  trelliswork  !  Lit- 
tle they  knew  of  the  cares  of  life,  and  much  I  was  inclined 
to  envy  them. 

"  I  suppose,  Ursie,  it  may  be  as  well  to  tell  you  one 
thing,"  said  Miss  Milicent,  throwing  open  the  window  and 
sitting  down  by  it ;  for  the  room  had  been  shut  up  some 
days.  "  My  mother  has  had  some  uncomfortable  news,  and 
she  may  talk  to  you  about  it.  But  you  are  not  to  encourage 
her.  It  is  nothing  in  which  you  or  any  one  else  can  do  any 
good.  Just  try  to  draw  away  her  thoughts,  and  if  she  wants 
you  to  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  or  so,  I  suppose  you  can 
stay  for  it." 

I  answered  that  I  would  willingly  do  what  I  could.      I 


URSULA.  99 

had  Roger's  breakfast  to  get  ready,  and  the  kitchen-fire  was 
not  lighted,  but  I  would  remain  to  be  a  comfort  to  Mrs.  Weir 
as  long  as  was  possible. 

"  Fanny  can  go  over  and  light  the  fire,"  said  Miss  Mili- 
cent,  "  and  she  can  get  your  brother's  breakfast,  too." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  replied,  "  but  that  would  not  quite  suit 
Roger,  I  am  afraid;  I  must  go  myself,  if  I  can." 

Miss  Milicent  sat  considering,  which  was  not  at  all  com- 
mon with  her.  Presently  she  said,  "  You  are  very  much 
given  to  your  own  ways,  Ursie  Grant.  It  strikes  me  you 
might  as  well  take  a  little  thought  for  others.  My  mother 
has  been  vei-y  kind  to  you." 

"  Very  indeed,"  I  said ;  "  I  wish  always  to  show  my 
gratitude  ;  I  will  do  all  I  can  for  Mrs.  Weir,  but  I  am  afraid 
I  can't  put  aside  Roger." 

"  It  is  not  wise  of  you,  Ursie.  Some  day  he  will  put  you 
aside  when  you  aren't  thinking  of  it." 

"  I  am  willing  to  wait  till  the  day  comes,"  I  replied ; 
"  but  we  are  wasting  time,  now,  Miss  Milicent." 

Strange  to  say,  that  was  a  fact  she  needed  often  to  be 
reminded  of.  Busy  though  she  was  from  morning  till  night, 
she  frittered  away  more  time  than  any  person  I  ever  met 
with. 

She  stopped  again  in  her  persevering  way,  just  as  we 
came  to  Mrs.  Weir's  door,  and  said :  "  You  know  that  when 
Roger  Grant  marries,  you  will  be  obliged  to  leave  him." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  very  coolly ;  but  if  she  had  given  me  a 
blow,  I  could  not  have  felt  the  proud  colour  rush  to  my  cheek 
more  quickly. 

I  opened  the  door  of  Mrs.  Weir's  room,  and  held  it  for 
Miss  Milicent  to  pass,  and  in  she  went  like  a  rush  of  wind, 
straight  up  to  her  mother's  bed,  and  drew  aside  the  curtain, 
without  a  word  of  preparation. 

That  was  going  against  one  of  Mrs.  Weir's  peculiar 
fancies.  She  never  liked  to  be  looked  at  in  bed,  unless  she 
was  dressed  for  it,  and  had  on  her  pretty  white  muslin  dress- 
ing-gown, trimmed  with  lace,  and  her  best  cap.  "  I  have 
been  over  to  Ursie  Grant,  mother,  and  she  is  come — here  she 
is."     Miss  Milicent  pulled  aside  the  curtain  still  farther. 

"  That  will  do,  Milicent.    The  light  troubles  me."     Mrs. 


100  URSULA. 

Weir's  voice  was  very  weak,  and  she  drew  the  coverlid  over 
her  face. 

"  It's  only  because  you  keep  the  room  so  dark  always, 
mother,"  replied  Mis  Milicent.  "  If  you  would  leave  off 
having  the  shutters  closed  at  night,  you  wouldn't  be  so 
fidgety.  Ursie  can't  see  to  read,  nor  to  do  anything  in  this 
owl's  light." 

"  I  wish  to  talk  a  little  to  Ursula,  alone,  Milicent.  I 
beg  you  to  leave  us.     Is  Ursula  there  ?  " 

I  drew  near,  and  as  I  did  so,  managed  to  draw  the 
curtain  so  as  partly  to  hide  Mrs.  Weir,  and  make  her  feel 
that  I  was  not  looking  at  her.  Miss  Milicent  flustered 
about  the  room  (it  is  the  only  word  I  know  to  express  what 
I  mean),  putting  the  chairs  straight,  and  moving  things  from 
the  dressing-table. 

"  I  wish  to  be  quiet,  Milicent.  I  should  like  those  things 
to  be  left,"  said  Mrs.  Weir,  plaintively. 

"  You  can't  see,  mother ;  you  went  to  bed  in  such  a  hurry 
last  night,  that  Cotton  had  no  time  to  put  anything  away." 

Mrs.  Weir  resigned  herself  to  her  fate,  and  let  her  head 
fall  back  on  the  pillow. 

"  I  will  see  to  it  all.  Miss  Milicent,"  I  said,  going  up  to 
her,  "  if  you  will  just  kindly  leave  it.  Else  I  may  be  obliged 
to  go  back  to  Roger  before  Mrs.  Weir  has  had  time  to  talk 
to  me." 

"  Well,  yes  !  I  settled  that  Fanny  should  go  over  and 
light  the  fire.     I  shall  call  her  and  tell  her  so." 

A  most  happy  thought !  It  took  Miss  Milicent  away, 
and  she  departed,  slamming  the  door  so  violently,  that  I 
observed  poor  Mrs.  Weir  put  her  hand  to  her  head,  showing 
that  the  noise  gave  her  pain.  We  heard  Miss  Milicent  about 
the  house  for  at  least  ten  minutes  afterwards,  up-stairs  and 
down-stairs,  ordering  one  and  another.  No  matter  whom 
she  had  to  meet,  there  was  the  great  coat,  with  its  helpless 
hanging  sleeves,  and  the  garden-bonnet  to  cover  her. 

Mrs.  Weir  waited  for  some  seconds  to  assure  herself  that 
the  room  was  free  from  Miss  Milicent's  presence,  after  which, 
she  said,  "  Now,  Ursula,  if  you  please,  sit  down ;  "  and  I  placed 
a  chair  just  behind  the  curtain,  and  sat  down.  "  Thank  you 
for  coming,"  she  continued.     "  I  should  have  preferred  not 


URSULA.  101 

sending  to  you  till  after  I  had  had  my  breakfast,  but  Milicent 
desired  it." 

"  Miss  Milicent  thought  I  should  be  able  to  do  some- 
thing for  you,  Ma'am,"  I  said,  "  and  I  should  be  very  glad  if 
I  could." 

"  You  are  very  good,  Ursula.  I  feel  it.  Will  you 
kindly  look  for  my  other  cap,  and  the  little  light  shawl  in 
the  left-hand  drawer  ;  you  know  which  I  mean  ;  and,  perhaps, 
if  it  would  not  trouble  you,  you  would  just  give  me  my  hand- 
glass, and  draw  aside  the  window-curtain  a  little,  a  very 
little.  Milicent  would  open  the  shutters  quite,  though  I 
begged  her  not." 

These  were  very  common  little  duties,  I  had  often  per- 
formed them  before,  for  Mrs.  Weir  was  very  thoughtful  about 
her  maid,  and  whenever  she  kept  her  up  at  night,  took  care 
that  she  should  have  time  to  rest  in  the  morning.  I  gave 
her  the  glass,  and  the  cap,  and  poured  some  water  into  a 
very  pretty  china  basin,  with  a  pattern  of  green  leaves  and 
acorns  round  it,  and  handed  her  the  sweet-smelling  soap,  and 
the  soft-fringed  towel,  feeling  all  the  time  as  if  I  was  waiting 
upon  a  child,  or  even  something  more  tender  and  delicate — 
something  which  would  be  likely  to  break  if  one  touched  it ; 
her  little  hands  and  arms  were  so  thin  and  white,  and  her 
fingers  so  taper.  She  had  but  few  grey  hairs,  and  her  com- 
plexion was  still  very  transparent.  I  don't  think  she 
showed  her  age  at  all,  except  in  the  marks  beneath  her  eyes. 

"  Now,  my  Eau  de  Cologne,  if  you  please,  Ursula ;  and  I 
should  like  the  little  table  to  be  brought  nearer,  and  will 
you  put  the  flowers  so  that  I  may  look  at  them  ?  and  the 
purple  morocco  Testament.  I  thank  you ;  that  is  quite 
right;  no  one  ever  does  just  what. I  wish  as  you  do." 

No  one  except  Miss  Milicent  had  known  Mrs.  Weir's 
ways  as  long  as  I,  and  it  had  taken  me  a  good  while  to  learn 
them.  As  for  Miss  Milicent,  it  was  a  matter  of  continued 
surprise  to  me,  that  she  and  her  mother  had  not  separated 
years  before. 

"  I  should  like  you  to  read  to  me,  Ursula,  but  I  am  afraid 
to  take  up  your  time ;  perhaps  I  had  better  talk  to  you 
first." 

"  If  you  please,  Ma'am,"  I  said.     And  now  that  Mrs. 


102  URSULA. 

Weir  was  in  a  measure  dressed,  I  ventured  to  place  my  chair 
so  that  I  might  see  her  more  plainly. 

I  noticed,  then,  that  her  eyes  were  heavy,  and  her  eyelids 
red,  showing  that  she  had  been  crying,  but  she  was  trying  to 
look  happy.  She  was  able  to  control  herself  wonderfully. 
I  thought  that,  perhaps,  if  anything  painful  was  to  be  said, 
it  might  be  as  well  to  let  her  prepare  herself  for  it,  so  I 
offered  to  read  the  second  morning  lesson  for  the  day.  I 
knew  that  would  soothe  and  give  her  strength  more  than 
anything  I  could  suggest. 

She  listened  with  great  reverence  and  attention,  as  was 
her  wont,  and  when  I  had  ended  she  said,  "  Thank  you,  Ur- 
sula, it  has  done  me  good.  Whatever  there  is  to  bear,  it 
will  not  be  for  long,  and  there  is  a  bright  hope  beyond." 

Then  she  paused,  and  the  faint  spot  of  colour  in  her  cheek 
went  and  came,  as  it  might  have  done  in  the  face  of  a  young 
person. 

"  You  have  heard  bad  news,  Ma'am,  I  am  afraid,"  I 
said,  for  I  felt  I  must  help  her  in  spite  of  Miss  Milicent's 
warning. 

I  was  standing  by  the  bed  close  to  her.  Poor  Lady  ! 
she  caught  my  hand,  and  looked  piteously  in  my  face,  and 
then  she  leaned  her  head  on  my  shoulder  and  cried  like  a 
child.  And  through  her  sobs  came  the  words,  "  Ursula,  my 
husband  is  gone,  and  we  are  ruined." 

"  Dear  Ma'am,  I  heard  something  of  it,"  I  said,  "  but  it 
may  not  be  so  bad  as  you  think." 

She  drew  herself  away  from  me,  and  a  flash  shot  from  her 
eye.  "  They  talk  of  us,  then, — they  pity  us.  But  why 
should  they  not,  Ursula  ? "  and  her  voice  was  tremulous 
again.     "  We  are  all  weak — weak — only  mortals  !  " 

"  Roger  had  heard  something,  and  Mr.  Hervey,  too,"  I 
replied,  "  but  I  don't  fancy.  Ma'am,  the  news  is  commonly 
known." 

"  It  concerns  Mr.  Grant,  Ursula,"  continued  Mrs.  Weir, 
her  voice  and  manner  becoming  calmer.  "  Milicent  says  he 
must  go  away  from  Dene,  and  you  also.  She  tells  me  we 
must  live  in  a  little  cottage,  and  not  keep  any  servant.  I 
don't  think  I  could  live  long  if  Milicent  waited  on  me,  but 
I  must  try  ;  we  must  all  try  to  do  what  God  orders.  Only, 
Ursula,  you  will  come  and  see  me  sometimes  ?  " 


URSULA.  103 

I  meant  not  to  be  silly,  and  I  used  to  think  that  I  could 
always  keep  my  tears  in,  but  I  broke  down  entirely  then. 

"  Milicent  told  me  last  night  all  we  should  have  to  do," 
pursued  Mrs.  Weir.  "  When  I  could  not  go  to  sleep,  she 
talked  to  me  about  it.  I  dare  say  it  was  right  to  look  at  the 
worst,  and  Milicent  says  she  shall  not  care  for  having  every- 
thing to  arrange ;  but  I  think,  Ursula,  I  might  have  slept 
better  if  I  had  been  left  quiet." 

"  Miss  Milicent  is  strong,"  I  said ;  "  she  does  not  under- 
stand what  you  require,  Ma'am." 

"  Perhaps  not,  I  know  she  said  only  what  was  true  ;  but, 
Ursula,  I  should  not  vex  myself  with  my  own  trials  so  much, 
if  I  knew  more  about  my  husband.  Perhaps  he  is  gone 
abroad ;  I  ought  to  follow  him.  I  ought  to  try  and  make 
him  happier." 

"I  don't  think  you  need  trouble  yourself  about  Mr. 
Weir,  Ma'am,"  I  began  angrily ;  but  she  laid  her  hand  upon 
my  arm. 

"  I  made  a  vow  once,  Ursula,  to  love,  and  honour,  and 
obey  him.  You  have  never  made  such  a  vow.  You  cannot 
understand  it.  But  it  must  be  kept.  Do  you  think  Mr. 
Grant  or  Mr.  Hervey  would  endeavour  to  find  out  where  my 
husband  is?  I  might  join  him  then.  I  think  I  would 
rather  do  so  than  live  in  the  little  cottage  with  Milicent." 

I  could  T.ell  understand  that.  Great  self-sacrifice  is 
always  more  easy  than  patient  endurance.  "  You  are  not  fit 
to  go  to  him.  Ma'am,"  I  said,  "  if  he  is  out  of  England. 
You  would  not  be  able  to  bear  the  hardships  of  travelling." 

"  We  should  travel  till  we  found  him,"  said  Mrs.  Weir. 
"  Then  we  might  take  a  house  in  some  place  where  we  were 
not  known." 

I  felt  whilst  she  spoke  so  easily  of  what  might  be  done, 
how  little  she  could  know  what  ruin  meant,  and  I  was  aware 
that  I  had  but  a  slight  notion  of  it  myself.  I  could  not 
picture  Mrs.  Weir  living  in  any  place  without  every  comfort 
about  her. 

She  continued,  "  I  thought  perhaps,  Ursula,  that  you 
would  come  with  us  at  first,  if  your  brother  would  spare  you ; 
I  told  Milicent  that  I  would  ask  you,  but  she  laughed  at  the 
idea." 


104  URSULA. 

"  Miss  Milicent  knows  how  many  things  I  have  to  keep 
me  at  home,  I  am  afraid,  Ma'am,"  was  my  reply.  It  grieved 
me  to  say  this,  but  she  talked  so  like  a  child,  fancying 
everything  which  she  wished  might  be  managed,  that  I  saw 
it  was  necessary  to  show  her  the  difficulties  in  her  way.  I 
could  understand  now  why  Miss  Milicent  had  urged  me  to 
divert  her  mind  instead  of  encouraging  her  to  dwell  upon  her 
troubles.  She  looked  very  cast  down,  more  I  thought  be- 
cause I  was  so  cold,  than  because  I  did  not  say  yes ;  so  I 
added,  "  Indeed,  Ma'am,  you  must  not  think  but  that  I  would 
do  everything  for  you  I  could,  though  it  would  be  wrong  to 
make  any  promise  without  consulting  Roger,  because  he  has 
plans  of  his  own." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Ursula.  I  don't  want  to  be  selfish. 
I  told  Milicent  so.  She  thinks  that  we  ought  to  stay  in 
England.  But  Mr.  Weir  is  my  husband,  I  must  not  leave 
him.  I  should  like  to  talk  to  Mr.  Richardson  about  it.  Do 
you  think  he  would  come  to  me  ?  I  shall  pray  to  God,  and 
He  will  direct  me." 

She  was  very  nervous  and  agitated,  and  her  voice  shook 
painfully,  though  the  words  still  followed  each  other  slowly 
and  formally  in  the  quaint  fashion  which  was  common  with 
her.  I  could  do  nothing  for  her  myself,  and  the  proposal  of 
sending  for  Mr.  Richardson  took  quite  a  weight  from  my 
mind. 

She  caught  my  hand  as  she  supposed  I  was  going  away, 
and  held  it  firmly.  "  You  will  pi'ay  for  me,  Ursula.  I  want 
to  do  my  duty,  and  I  think  you  will  help  me,  and  God  will 
not  forsake  me.  I  must  remember  that ;  I  shall  see  a  way  by 
and  by.  I  hope  you  will  never  know  so  much  trouble  as  I 
have;  but  I  must  go  to  my  husband." 

Those  where  the  saddest  words  of  all  to  me.  There 
was  no  love  in  them,  only  a  despairing  sense  of  duty.  I 
longed  to  ask  her  more  particulars  of  what  she  had  heard, 
but  I  remembered  Miss  Milicent's  warning,  and  I  felt  also 
that  it  would  be  impertinent.  Mrs.  Weir  was  very  kind  in 
giving  me  her  confidence,  but  I  had  no  right  to  ask  for  more 
than  she  chose  to  tell. 

*'  I  must  go  to  my  husband,"  I  heard  her  repeat  again  to 
herself,  as  I  left  the  room,  intending  to  see  Miss  Milioent, 


URSULA.  105 

and  beg  her  to  write  to  Mr.  Richardson.  This  time  the 
words  sounded  less  sad.  They  came  to  me  more  as  a  lesson 
for  myself.  In  her  anxiety,  her  nervousness,  and  helpless- 
ness, Mrs.  Weir  had  seized  upon  the  one  point  which  came 
before  her  as  a  duty.  It  was  a  landmark  in  her  difficulties ; 
and  I  knew  that  I  must  do  the  same.  The  weight  pressed 
more  heavily  on  my  heart  when  I  thought  of  Roger  and 
Canada ;  for  I  could  see  fresh  claims  starting  up  to  keep  me 
at  home.  But  there  is  a  strength  in  duty ;  it  is  like  nothing 
else.  When  troubles  like  quicksands  are  all  around  one,  it 
is  the  firm  spot  on  which  to  tread,  and  there  is  nothing  so 
supporting  to  oneself  as  seeing  others  plant  their  feet  upon 
it  and  stand  up  boldly.  Poor  Mrs.  Weir  had  done  more  for 
me  than  I  could  ever  do  for  her.  I  went  back  to  her  again 
for  a  little  while,  but  I  was  doubtful  whether  it  was  good  for 
her  to  have  me  much  with  her.  Being  with  any  one  to  whom 
she  could  open  her  heart,  excited  her.  She  spoke  freely  of 
the  money  difficulties,  and  said  that  she  had  foreseen  them, 
but  it  was  evident  to  me  that  her  husband  had  never  been 
open  with  her  respecting  them.  About  him  she  said  very 
little.  Never  indeed,  during  the, many  years  that  I  had 
known  her,  had  she  ever  spoken  directly  or  indirectly  of 
the  causes  of  complaint  which  she  had  against  him.  It  was 
a  sacred  grief,  known  only  to  God. 

I  left  her  about  seven  o'clock,  more  quiet,  and  with  a 
promise  that  she  would  try  and  sleep  a  little.  Indeed,  I 
persuaded  her  to  take  a  few  drops  of  an  opiate,  and  Cotton 
being  dressed  by  that  time,  I  was  satisfied  that  she  would  be 
well  looked  after. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Roger's  breakfast  was  ready  at  half-past  seven ;  he  had 
been  out  almost  before  daybreak.  I  don't  think  he  had  slept 
well.  I  told  him  how  I  had  been  sent  for  by  Mrs.  Weir ; 
and  he  seemed  glad  upon  the  whole,  to  think  that  she  knew 
the  worst.  And  yet  upon  talking  to  him,  I  found  that  it  was 
not  the  worst.  Now  that  the  truth  had  reached  Dene, 
Roger  felt  himself   more  at  liberty  to  speak  out;    and  I 

Vol.  1—5* 


106  URSULA. 

learned  from  him,  that  Mr.  Weir  was  not  only  ruined,  but 
that  he  had  gone  away  with  a  stain  upon  his  character. 
Strangely  enough,  that  very  business  which  he  had  made  use 
of  to  crush  young  Mr.  Henderson,  had  been  the  cause  of  his 
temptation  and  his  fall.  It  had  never  been  a  very  profitable 
affair  ;  but  it  gave  him  an  opening  for  speculation,  and  there- 
fore he  liked  it.  Lately  he  had  taken  a  more  active  part  in 
the  business.  Large  accounts  passed  through  his  hands, 
and  now  the  whole  concern  had  fallen  to  pieces ;  and  the 
accounts  having  been  examined,  Mr,  Weir  was  accused  of 
fraud  in  the  management.  He  was  not  at  hand  to  answer 
the  charge — he  had  gone  off,  no  one  knew  where.  It  was 
generally  supposed  he  had  left  England. 

A  most  dismal  story  it  was,  with  scarcely  a  ray  of  hope 
or  comfort,  except  that  Roger  believed  a  portion  of  Mrs. 
Weir's  money  to  have  been  so  settled  upon  her  that  it  could 
not  well  be  touched.  The  Dene  estate  was  heavily  mort- 
gaged ;  yet  if  it  were  sold,  it  was  hoped  that  sufficient 
would  be  left  to  give  her  and  Miss  Milicent  enough  to 
live  upon;  and  it  had  been  suggested  that  perhaps  also 
her  niece,  Mrs.  Temple,  might  come  forward  to  assist,  as  she 
had  received  much  kindness  from  Mrs.  Weir's  family. 

"  But  it  will  be  a  hard  struggle,  Ursie  !  "  added  Roger, 
when  he  had  given  me  all  these  details.  "  Mrs.  Weir  has 
been  so  little  accustomed  to  rough  it ;  and  I  am  afraid  Miss 
Milicent  has  no  notion  how  to  make  both  ends  meet,  and 
will  burn  a  ton  of  coals  to  save  a  rushlight." 

"  Penny  wise  and  pound  foolish  ;  "  I  said.  "  Yes,  that 
will  be  very  like  her.  I  hope  they  won't  go  far  away  from 
here." 

"  That  you  may  be  able  to  look  after  them ;  "  he  said 
quickly.     I  made  no  answer. 

"  They  may  take  a  cottage  at  Compton,"  continued 
Roger,  a  little  maliciously ;  "  that  wouldn't  be  far  from  Sand- 
combe." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  stay  at  Sandcombe  !  "  I  exclaimed, 
with  some  anger.  "  I  had  rather  live  on  a  crust  of  bread  in 
a  garret,  than  be  forced  to  be  all  day  with  Leah." 

"  We  will  wait  and  see  how  things  turn  out,  Trot," 
replied  Roger  quietly.     "  It  does  not  do  to  make  rash  vows, 


•         URSULA.  107 

nor  to  set  ourselves  against  what  God  may  appoint."  He 
left  the  breakfast  table,  and  went  to  the  door. 

"  You  must  not  go  away  so,  Roger  !  "  I  exclaimed,  fol- 
lowing him,  "  I  can't  bear  it.  Something  must  be  settled, 
one  way  or  the  other." 

"  When  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Now, — at  once.  How  can  I  go  about  my  work  all  day, 
not  knowing  what  is  going  to  happen  to  me,  or  where  I  may 
be  to-morrow." 

"  I  thought  that  was  what  we  were  obliged  to  do  always," 
he  replied.  "  The  settling  which  you  wish  for,  Ursie,  can't 
be  made  in  a  minute.  We  must  see  what  is  going  to  be 
done  here,  and  then  I  must  find  out  a  good  deal  more  about 
Canada  ;  and  when  I  have  done  that,  I  must  look  into  Wil- 
liam's affairs,  and  see  if  I  can  have  the  money  conveniently. 
Can't  you  put  it  into  God's  Hands,  my  little  Trot,  and 
trust  it  ?  " 

His  voice  and  manner  brought  back  the  feeling  of  rever- 
ence and  submission  with  which  I  had  been  accustomed  to 
listen  to  him  from  a  child.  I  said  it  was  very  difficult,  but 
I  would  try.  I  only  begged  him  to  let  me  know  the  very 
moment  that  anything  certain  was  decided  upon. 

"  My  first  claim  always,"  he  said,  laying  his  broad  hand 
on  my  head.     "  You  shall  hear  soon  enough." 

"  And  you  won't  set  yourself  against  common  sense,  and 
make  up  your  mind  in  a  hurry  that  I  am  not  to  go  ?  "  I 
said. 

"  Just  the  contrary.  Trot.  I  was  going  to  walk  over  to 
Compton  this  morning,  to  look  at  Hobson's  cottage  for  Wil- 
liam, and  I  thought  I  would  call  in  at  the  parsonage,  and 
have  a  talk  with  Mr.  Richardson  about  it  all." 

"  You  will  meet  him,"  I  said  ;  "  he  will  be  coming  here 
to  see  Mrs.  Weir."' 

"  So  much  the  better  ;  I  shan't  have  to  go  out  of  my  way. 
Hobson's  cottage  is  a  good  way  off  from  the  parsonage." 

"  Here  is  the  boy  coming  back  from  Compton  with  a 
message  from  Mr.  Richardson !  "  I  said.  "  We  had  better 
wait  and  hear  what  it  is." 

Roger  went  across  to  the  house,  and  I  began  putting 
away  tlie  breakfast  things.  I  could  not  bear,  that  morning, 
to  stand  stilL  and  think,  even  for  a  moment. 


108  URSULA.  • 

Roger  came  back  again  very  soon.  "  Mrs.  Richardson 
sends  the  answer,"  he  said.  "  Her  husband  has  to  be  at 
Longside  at  ten  o'clock,  and  after  that  he  will  come  on  and 
see  Mrs.  Weir.  In  that  case,  Ursie,  I  had  better  go  to 
Longside  directly,  or  I  shall  miss  him ;  for  I  can't  wait  for 
him  here.  William  made  an  appointment  with  me  at 
Hobson's." 

"  And  you  might  take  me  with  you,"  I  replied  ;  "  I  have 
some  business  with  Mary  Kemp,  which  I  was  going  to  do 
this  afternoon.  We  are  to  have  cold  meat  for  dinner,  so  it 
won't  signify  when  I  go  ;  and  Cook,  at  the  house,  will  boil  us 
some  potatoes." 

"  Make  haste,  then,  child.  I  have  been  wasting  more 
time  here  now  than  I  ought.  But  I  shall  like  to  have  you 
with  me,"  was  added,  kindly. 

I  put  my  bonnet  on  directly,  and  went  over  to  ask  Cook 
about  the  jDotatoes,  and  I  thought  too  that  I  would  inquire 
about  Mrs.  Weir.  Not  that  I  meant  to  stay  at  home  be- 
cause of  her,  unless  there  was  some  very  special  reason. 
Though  Leah  said  I  was  treated  as  if  I  was  a  servant  of  the 
family,  I  had  always  taken  care  to  show  my  own  inde- 
pendence. Mrs.  Weir  herself  had  taught  me  that.  She 
said  to  me  one  day,  when,  by  some  accident,  I  had  let  out  a 
little  of  what  I  felt  about  Jessie  Lee,  and  the  way  Leah 
went  on  with  her,  "  Ursula,  our  right  will  always  be  given 
us  sooner  or  later,  if  we  choose  to  claim  it  in  a  proper  man- 
ner, and  if  we  do  not,  we  have  no  reason  to  quarrel  with 
others  for  that  which  is  our  own  fault."  I  think  she  had 
learned  this  from  experience.  If  she  had  stood  out  more 
against  her  daughter's  tyrannising  ways.  Miss  Milicent  would 
never  have  got  the  upper  hand  as  she  had  done.  Things 
being  as  they  were,  Mrs.  Weir  felt  she  had  no  right  to  com- 
plain. At  any  rate,  I  had  profited  by  the  lesson,  and  had 
never  given  in  to  Miss  Milicent,  nor  even  to  Mrs.  Weir,  as 
I  might  have  done  otherwise.  Having  so  many  little  fanci- 
ful ways,  Mrs.  Weir  might  have  taken  up  a  great  deal  of  my 
time  if  I  had.  We  were  all  the  better  friends  for  my  inde- 
pendence; I  suspect  there  is  no  foundation  for  friendship 
between  persons  of  any  rank,  unless  there  is  a  feeling  of  re- 
spect which  prevents  either  party  from  taking  liberties,  or 
being  encroaching. 


URSULA,  109 

As  it  happened,  my  going  or  staying  just  then  was  a 
matter  of  no  consequence,  for  Mrs.  Weir  had  fallen  asleep, 
and  Cotton  was  with  her ;  so  I  left  a  message  to  tell  her 
when  I  thought  I  should  be  back,  and  then  Roger  and  I  set 
off  for  Longside. 

It  was  about  three  quarters  of  a  mile  from  Dene,  by  a 
tolerably  direct  road, — Sandy  Lane  as  we  called  it, — which 
began  just  after  we  passed  the  gate  opening  from  the  wide 
pasture  land  immediately  about  Dene.  That  piece  of  land 
which  was  neither  field  nor  down,  but  only  a  kind  of  hilly 
common  on  which  cattle  or  sheep  might  feed,  was  one  thing 
which  made  Dene  different  from  other  places.  It  was  like 
the  sea  separating  it  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  The  road 
through  it  was  private,  and  no  one  but  ourselves  seemed  to 
have  any  business  with  Sandy  Lane ;  whilst,  standing  upon 
such  high  ground,  we  looked  out,  as  it  were,  upon  the 
world. 

Roger  was  not  very  talkative  that  morning ;  he  walked 
on  so  fast  that  I  could  scarcely  follow  him ;  at  length  he  said 
abruptly,  "  Have  you  thought  at  all,  Ursie,  of  what  you  will 
do  in  case  we  should  make  up  our  minds  that  it  is  right  to 
separate  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  I  won't  think.  I  can't  make  up  my 
mind,  whatever  others  may." 

"  It  would  be  better,"  he  said,  "  and  kinder  to  consider  ; 
and  if  you  are  so  vehement  against  the  notion,  ten  to  one  but 
it  will  come  to  pass.  John  Hervey  thinks  you  might  be  bet- 
ter staying  with  Mrs.  Weir,  even  if  she  could  only  afford  to 
keep  you,  than  you  would  be  at  Sandcombe." 

"  I  should  be  better  living  on  the  common  by  myself 
than  I  should  be  at  Sandcombe,"  I  replied ;  "  Leah  and  I 
could  never  help  coming  to  a  quarrel,  and  she  does  not  want 
me.     There  is  Jessie  always  to  be  had." 

"  If  you  were  there  you  might  be  a  help  and  a  friend  to 
Jessie,"  he  said. 

"  Not  I,  Roger,"  and  I  stopped  short,  and  spoke  almost 
angrily ;  "  Jane  Shaw  is  in  the  way.  What  am  I  against 
her  ?  " 

"  If  the  Shaws  were  only  over  the  sea  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
vehemently.     "  They  are  a  curse  to  the  country." 


110  URSULA. 

The  speech  was  so  different  from  his  usual  gentle  way  of 
judging  people  that  I  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "  You 
don't  know  the  mischief  they  are  up  to,  Ursie,"  he  contin- 
ued, "  Pity  forbid  you  should.  John  Shaw  is  a  scamp,  and 
Jane — " 

«  Is  what  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  A  lady,  according  to  her  own  notions,"  he  answered, 
laughing ;  but  there  was  something  bitter  and  mocking  in 
his  tone. 

"  That  is  she,  I  do  believe,"  was  my  exclamation,  as 
I  looked  down  the  lane,  and  saw  two  people  coming  to- 
wards us. 

"  You  are  as  blind  as  a  beetle,  Trot.  It  is  John  Hervey 
and  Mary  Kemp.  I  dare  say  they  were  going  up  to  Dene 
to  see  if  they  could  do  any  good  there.  John  Hervey  is  set 
upon  helping  Mrs.  Weir  in  some  way.  He  has  wonderful 
thought  for  such  a  light-hearted  fellow  as  he  is," 

"  Yes,  he  is  very  good-natured,"  I  said,  and  I  watched 
him  and  Mary  with  a  kindly  feeling  as  they  came  towards 
us,  and  thought  what  a  pleasant  couple  they  would  make ; 
though  Mary  was  not  what  many  men  would  have  taken  to. 
She  was  plain,  and  had  a  frightened,  shy,  stammering  way 
with  her,  which  it  was  difficult  to  get  over. 

"  Well  met,"  exclaimed  John,  when  we  were  within  hear- 
ing of  each  other.  "  Mary  and  I  were  on  our  way  to  you. 
Ursie,  how  did  you  get  home  last  night  ?  Koger  and  you 
didn't  lose  your  way  upon  the  down,  I  hope." 

"  We  were  not  late,  and  there  was  a  moon,"  I  said, 
shortly.  I  could  not  quite  bear  any  allusion  to  last  evening. 
John  must  have  seen  my  face  alter,  for  his  manner  changed 
directly.  "  We  may  spare  ourselves  the  trouble  of  our  walk, 
Mary,"  he  said,  "  if  Roger  and  Ursie  are  come  to  tell  us  all 
we  want  to  know." 

"  I  was  going  to  inquire  for  Mrs.  Weir,"  observed  Mary, 
timidly. 

"  And  Ursie  will  tell  us  about  her,  no  doubt,"  said  John, 
and  he  turned  to  walk  back.  "  Were  you  going  to  Long* 
side  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Roger,  '<  to  see  Mr.  Richardson,  if  he  is 
there." 


U  E  SU  L  A  .  Ill 

"  You  will  find  him  in  full  parley  with  the  Farmer. 
They  have  brought  over  Mr.  Stewart,  of  Hatton,  between 
them,  and  we  have  been  planning  cottages  for  the  last  hour. 
If  Dene  is  to  be  sold  I  wish  Mr.  Stewart  may  buy  it." 

"  Jane  Shaw  says  that  Captain  Price,  the  young  man 
who  was  here  some  time  ago  with  Mr.  Weir,  has  his  eye 
upon  it,"  said  Mary,  in  a  tone  so  low  that  she  could  scarcely 
be  heard. 

"  What  can  Jane  Shaw  know  about  the  matter  ? "  I 
asked  quickly.  "  Captain  Price  is  not  likely  to  have  told 
her." 

"  Jane  Shaw  is  going  to  be  married  to  Captain  Price," 
said  Mary. 

"  What,  Mary  ?  what  ?  "  John  Hervey  actually  caught 
hold  of  her  arm ;  and  Roger  said  more  respectfully,  "  It 
must  be  Hove  talk,  it  can't  be  true." 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  am  told  that  Jane  says  it,"  said 
Mary.  She  seemed  afraid  to  assert  the  fact  more  strongly, 
even  upon  such  authority,  when  the  others  doubted. 

"  I  don't  see  why  it  shouldn't  be,"  I  said  quickly ; 
"  they  are  much  of  a  piece.  Captain  Price,  as  far  as  I  ever 
saw  anything  of  him,  is  not  any  better  for  a  gentleman  than 
Jane  Shaw  is  for  a  farmer's  daughter.  I  don't  see  why  they 
shouldn't  make  up  together." 

"  Ursie,  you  are  sharp,"  observed  Roger. 

John  Hervey  supported  me.  "  Ursie  is  right,"  he  said, 
"  in  one  way ;  they  are  neither  of  them  good  in  their  station, 
and  so  they  might  just  as  well  be  out  of  it.  Captain  Price 
has  little  of  a  gentleman  belonging  to  him,  except  it  may  be 
his  birth ;  and  as  for  Jane,  it  is  diihcult  to  say  what  she  is ; 
certainly  nothing  that  is  a  credit  to  any  one  who  has  to  do 
with  her." 

"  Jane  thinks  that  to  marry  a  gentleman  will  make  her  a 
lady,"  said  Mary. 

"  Let  her  try  1 "  exclaimed  Mr.  Hervey,  laughing.  Then 
a  moment  afterwards  he  added,  "  What  provokes  me  is,  that 
people  can't  see  their  own  respectability,  since  they  think  so 
much  about  it.  Where  is  there  a  man  in  all  the  country 
more  respected  than  your  father,  Mary  ? — and  I  may  say 
your  father's  daughter,  too;"  he  added,  looking  at  her  and 


112  URSULA. 

smiling.  "  Where  is  there  a  family  that  has  more  influence  ? 
And  yet  where  is  there  a  truer,  honester,  sturdier  old  English 
farmer  than  Farmer  Kemp  ?  " 

Mary  looked  thoroughly  pleased,  and  said  she  did  think 
her  father  was  respected. 

"Isn't  he  !  "  said  Roger  heartily.  "  If  you  were  just  to 
hear  what  I  hear  said  of  him  everywhere, — amongst  high 
and  low,  rich  and  poor, — you  would  feel  it  an  honour  to  bear 
his  name." 

"  Perhaps  I  do  feel  it  so ;  "  said  Mary.  She  smiled 
rather  archly,  and  I  thought  she  looked  quite  pretty. 

I  had  it  on  my  lips  to  say  that  it  was  more  than  any  of 
old  Mr.  Shaw's  daughters  could  feel  for  him,  but  something 
stopped  me.  No  doubt  I  was  inclined  to  be  sharp,  and 
Roger  often  gave  me  a  hint  to  keep  a  watch  over  my  tongue. 

"  There  is  the  old  Farmer,  out  in  the  field  by  the  hay- 
rick !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Hervey,  pointing  to  a  rick  in  a  field  at 
some  little  distance;  "  and  I  think, — yes,  Roger, — that  is  Mr. 
Richardson  with  him.  If  you  want  to  catch  him,  you  had 
better  be  off,  or  you  will  miss  him." 

Roger  took  the  hint.  I  think  his  heart  was  full,  and  he 
longed  to  have  all  his  troubles  out  with  Mr.  Richardson. 
He  strode  forward  like  a  giant,  and  was  over  the  gate  and 
across  the  field  before  we  had  reached  the  house. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

LoNGSiDE  was  much  larger  than  Sandcombe, — not  so 
much  of  a  farm  in  appearance, — for  the  house  was  high  and 
square,  and  stood  in  a  garden,  and  the  farm-buildings  and 
the  yard  were  at  one  side.  The  Shaws  had  lived  there  be- 
fore they  went  to  White  Hill,  and  old  Mr.  Shaw  had  tried 
to  make  it  look  as  much  like  a  regular  country-house  as  he 
could;  and  a  good  deal  of  money,  I  believe,  had  been  spent 
by  him  and  the  landlord  in  rcfacing  it,  and  laying  out  the 
garden.  Farmer  Kemp  took  it  as  it  was,  and  let  everything 
stay,  though  it  could  not  have  been  much  to  his  taste.  But 
his  notion,  as  I  once  heard  him  say,  was,  that  if  a  house 


URSULA.  113 

did  not  make  a  gentleman,  neither  did  it  make  a  farmer. 
Folks  would  soon  see  what  he  was,  and  what  he  wished  to 
be,  and  though  other  people  had  spent  money  in  building  up 
follies,  he  saw  no  reason  why  he  was  to  waste  his  in  helping 
to  pull  them  down.  He  was  more  to  be  praised  for  that 
piece  of  economy  than  for  many  other  things  which  men 
commended  him  for.  It  was  a  greater  sacrifice  to  him  to 
bear  with  what  looked  like  being  grand  and  set  up,  than  it 
would  be  for  most  persons  to  bear  with  things  that  are  mean. 

But  Farmer  Kemp's  wish  was  always  to  be,  not  to  seem  ; 
his  countenance  showed  that.  Every  line  in  it  told  of 
truth.  And  a  handsome  face  it  was,  too  !  It  struck  me 
that  day  particularly  as  we  drew  near,  and  he  came  to  meet 
us  with  his  old-English  greeting,  putting  all  his  heart  into 
the  shake  of  the  hand. 

I3eing  in  the  open  aii'  so  much  had  tanned  and  reddened 
his  complexion,  but  there  was  a  freshness  about  it  still, 
though  he  must  have  been  upwards  of  sixty.  His  hair  was 
quite  white,  and  thin,  and  long,  which  gave  him  the  look  of 
even  an  older  man  than  he  was ;  but  his  blue  eyes  were  as 
bright  as  ever, — as  full  of  life  and  eagerness, — and  his 
mouth,  though  the  smile  was  singularly  good-natured,  proved 
that  age  had  not  yet  weakened  his  spirit  of  determination. 
Farmer  Kemp  was  no  waverer  nor  doubter.  He  knew  what 
he  meant  to  do,  and  he  did  it ;  and  even  when  people  quar- 
relled with  him  they  respected  him. 

"  Why,  Mary,  lass,  you  are  come  back  soon !  "  he  said, 
after  he  had  spoken  his  few  kind  words  of  welcome  to  me. 
"  I  thought  you  were  gone  up  to  Dene  to  be  useful." 

''  Ursie  doesn't  tliink  there  is  any  way  of  being  useful 
just  now,  father,"  said  Mary.  "  Mrs.  Weir  has  heard  every- 
thing, and  keeps  up  tolerably." 

"  You  should  have  gone  in  though,  child  ;  I  would  have 
had  you  see  Mrs.  Mason.  It  will  be  hard  times  with  Mrs. 
Weir  and  Miss  Milicent,"  he  added,  turning  to  me ;  "  they 
are  away  from  their  own  kith  and  kin,  and  they  are  not  over 
friendly  with  the  gentry  round,  except  it  be  with  Mr. 
Kichardson,  who  has  a  short  purse,  and  a  small  house,  and  a 
large  family.  If  it  came  to  the  point,  there  might  be  more 
real  help  for  Mrs.  Weir  to  be  had  from  Longside  than  from 
Comptou,  only  it  might  not  suit  her  to  see  it." 


114  URSULA. 

"  Mrs.  Weir  is  not  proud,"  I  said ;  "  at  least,  I  don't 
think  so." 

"  Poverty  is  the  touchstone  of  pride,  so  I  have  heard 
say,"  replied  the  Farmer  ;  "  but  come  in,  Ursie,  and  tell  us 
more  about  it.  My  Goodwoman  and  I  have  been  talking 
about  you  this  morning,  thinking  what  an  upset  there  would 
be  for  you  from  all  this." 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  know  that  some  persons  can  take 
thought  for  one,"  I  said  ;  and  I  felt  my  eyes  fill  with  tears. 
I  don't  know  what  there  was  in  Farmer  Kemp's  manner 
which  made  me  always  feel  what  a  happiness  it  would  be  to 
have  an  earthly  father. 

"  So  you  are  sad,  child,  are  you  ?  "  he  answered.  "  Cheer 
up;  rain  one  day,  sunshine  the  next.  Come  in,  and  we'll 
have  it  all  out.  Why,  there's  Roger  off  with  Mr.  Richard- 
son !  What  is  that  for  ?  and  we  had  not  half  settled  our 
business." 

"  Indeed  !  "  observed  Mr.  Hervey,  "it  was  all  but  done 
when  Mary  and  I  set  off." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  man,"  said  the  Farmer,  quickly,  "  it 
wasn't  begun.  Give  me  money  in  hand,  and  bricks,  and 
mortar,  and  I  will  say  something  to  you ;  but  we  have  not 
bi'ought  Mr.  Stewart  to  that  point  yet." 

"  He  promises,"  said  John  Hervey. 

"  Promises  !  promises  !  "  Farmer  Kemp  repeated  the 
words  slowly.  "  When  you  have  lived  as  long  as  I  have, 
John,  you  will  learn  how  to  value  promises,  even  those  of 
good  men ;  Mr.  Stewart,  of  Hatton,  being  one, — at  least,  as 
goodness  is  reckoned  now.  I  have  been  treated  with 
promises  for  the  last  fifteen  years ;  and  shall  I  tell  you  what 
I  think  of  them  ?  They  are  uncommonly  like  the  straw  a 
day  which  the  old  woman's  cow  was  fed  upon  till  she  died." 

We  all  laughed  ;  but  John  Hervey  said  he  had  a  better 
opinion  of  Mr.  Stewart  than  to  think  he  was  not  going  to 
keep  his  word. 

"  Well !  yes, — well !  he  will  keep  it  in  the  letter,  I  grant 
you.  Whilst  he  has  Mr.  Richardson  to  back  him,  and  me 
knocking  at  his  door,  he  can't  well  do  otherwise.  But  he  is 
not  a  man  to  go  of  his  own  accord  against  what  he  considers 
his  interest.     If  he  was,  he  wouldn't  have  let  things  come  to 


URSULA.  115 

the  pass  they  are.  He  would  never  have  needed  our  eyes  for 
spectacles  to  help  him  to  see  that  he  can't  make  a  poor,  igno- 
rant man  a  Christian  by  forcing  him  to  live  like  a  heathen. 
Why,  there  are  cottages  on  the  Hatton  estate  which  aren't 
two  degrees  better  than  my  pig-sty;  and  there  is  he,  with  his 
five  thousand  a  year,  crying  out  about  the  expense  of  rebuild- 
ing them,  and  threatening — what  do  you  think  now,  John,  he 
threatens  ?  "  and  Farmer  Kemp  stopped  as  we  were  about  to 
enter  the  house,  and  drew  John  Hervey  aside. 

"  We  had  better  go  in,"  said  Mary  to  me,  in  her  quiet 
voice. 

But  I  was  curious,  and  something  better  than  curious — 
interested ;  for  I  saw  the  working  of  John  Hervey's  face, 
and  I  kuew  that  whatever  Farmer  Kent  might  be  telling  him 
was  giving  him  pain. 

I  wondered  that  Mary  seemed  to  care  so  little  for  it. 
She  watched  them  for  an  instant,  and  then  said,  composedly  : 
"  Mr.  Stewart  told  father  that  if  Hatton  was  such  an  expense 
to  him,  he  should  sell  it,  and  he  knew  a  person  willing  to  buy 
it.  And  I  can  tell  who  that  is,"  added  Mary,  with  a  little 
more  of  life  in  her  tone;   "  it's  Captain  Price." 

"  What !  he  that  is  to  marry  Jane  Shaw  ?  It  can't  be," 
I  exclaimed.  "  Dene  and  Hatton  !  He  would  be  the  lord 
of  the  country." 

"  Father  says  it,"  was  Mary's  reply. 

"  And  you  don't  care  about  it  ?  You  aren't  worried 
about  it  ?  "  I  exclaimed.     "  Mary,  you  are  a  wonder." 

"  It  is  not  come  yet,  and  it  mayn't  come  at  all,"  said 
Mary.     "  When  it  does  it  will  be  time  enough  to  fret." 

That  was  very  true;  but  somehow,  the  words  did  not 
quite  come  home  to  me  just  then,  and  when  I  looked  at 
John  Hervey  again,  I  thought  less  of  Captain  Price,  and  the 
chance  of  his  buying  Hatton,  than  of  what  John  would  do  if 
he  took  to  himself  such  a  quiet  wife. 

"  You  will  stay  now  and  rest,  Ursie,"  said  Mary,  open- 
ing the  door  for  me.  "  Mother  is  in  the  kitchen,  most  likely, 
but  she  will  be  glad  to  come  into  the  parlour  and  see  you." 

Mary  left  me  in  the  passage,  for  I  knew  how  to  find  my 
way  to  the  parlour  — a  pleasant  little  three-sided  room,  having 
cupboards  all  round  the  walls,  and  a  cheerful-looking  corner 


116  URSULA. 

fireplace.  When  Longside  was  built,  it  was  intended  for  a 
housekeeper's  room. 

Mary  had  much  more  taste  than  William's  wife,  and 
though  the  room  was  not  by  any  means  as  large,  and  not  half 
as  well  furnished,  as  the  great  parlour  at  Sandcombe,  it  was 
much  more  comfortable.  There  were  flower-pots  in  the  win- 
dow-seat, and  flowers  on  the  table,  and  over  the  mantelpiece ; 
and  Mary  was  not,  like  Leah,  ashamed  of  homely  work,  and 
so  it  was  lying  about  ready  to  be  taken  up ;  whilst  some 
books  near  it  showed  that  there  was  leisure  at  Longside  for 
something  besides  mere  drudgery.  One  of  the  books  was  a 
Bible  :  I  think  Mrs.  Kemp,  and  Mary,  and  her  two  little 
sisters,  generally  read  together  the  lesson  for  the  day  in  the 
New  Testament,  some  time  in  the  course  of  the  morning. 

Mrs.  Kemp  came  in  almost  immediately.  In  her  way 
she  was  as  clever  and  shrewd  as  her  husband,  and  quite  as 
good;  and  as  for  her  kind-heartedness,  there  was  no  end  to 
it.  The  Goodwoman,  as  Farmer  Kemp  always  called  her, 
was  never  known  to  forget  a  friendly  word  or  a  friendly 
thought  for  any  one.  She  was  always  especially  considerate 
for  me.  I  suspect  she  felt  for  me  because  I  was  an  orphan, 
for  she  had  known  herself  what  it  was  to  be  brought  up 
without  father  or  mother.  Perhaps  it  might  have  been  that 
which  made  her  so  careful  about  the  young  girls  who  came 
to  her  as  servants,  or  had  anything  to  do  with  the  farm-work. 
I  have  often  known  people  object  to  take  girls  who  have  been 
at  farm-service,  thinking  they  might  have  learned  evil  there, 
but  it  was  never  so  with  Mrs.  Kemp's  girls ;  she  made  her- 
self their  friend,  and  kept  them  out  of  temptation,  as  she 
would  her  own  daughters,  until  it  began  to  be  considered 
quite  a  recommendation  in  the  neighbourhood  to  have  worked 
at  Longside. 

"  Early,  Ursie,  but  always  welcome,"  was  Mrs.  Kemp's 
greeting,  as  she  smoothed  down  her  white  apron,  and  pulled 
down  and  fastened  the  sleeves  of  her  dress,  which  she  had 
turned  up,  1  suppose,  whilst  assisting  in  the  kitchen.  What 
a  round,  bright-coloured,  good-humoured  face  hers  was!  quite 
pretty  still,  and  almost  young.  I  could  not  help  kissing  her, 
though  kissing  was  not  very  much  in  my  way  with  most 
people. 


URSULA.  117 

"  Farmer  and  I  spent  a  good  half-hour,  this  morning, 
talking  about  you  and  things  at  Dene,"  continued  Mrs. 
Kemp,  drawing  her  chair  close  to  mine.  "  I  should  have 
been  up  myself,  only  I  thought  it  might  be  taken  for  a  lib- 
erty, as  I  don't  go  there  often ;  so  I  sent  Mary,  making  sure 
she  would  see  Mrs.  Mason,  if  she  could  get  a  glimpse  of  you. 
What  can  we  do  for  you  now  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  I  said  ;  "  nothing  now,  at  least.  Roger  is 
gone  to  talk  to  Mr.  Richardson  about  it  all." 

My  face  must  have  shown  my  feelings, — though,  the 
moment  before,  I  had  made  a  strong  resolution  against  be- 
traying them. 

"  Ah  !  poor  child ;  yes. — Dear  heart !  don't  take  on  so. 
Roger  can't  go  to  a  better  friend.  So  it  is  all  up  with  you, 
is  it ;  and  you  must  leave  Dene  ?  I  thought  as  much,  poor 
child — poor  child  !  " 

"  I  don't  know;  I  can't  say  what  we  must  do,"  I  ex- 
claimed ;  and  the  sorrow  rose  up  in  my  heart,  like  a  great 
wave  about  to  rush  in  upon  the  shore.  But  it  broke  in- 
wards, and  I  was  thankful  for  it. 

"  He  will  find  another  place ;  you  will  have  a  home 
again  very  soon,"  continued  Mrs.  Kemp.  "  Such  a  trusty, 
worthy  young  man  as  he  is,  and  knowing  so  much  about 
everything !  Not  that  it  will  be  like  Dene,  where  you  have 
lived  so  long." 

"  I  shan't  care  for  anything,"  I  said,  "  as  long  as  Roger 
and  I  are  together."  I  could  not  allude  more  clearly  to  the 
Canada  project  without  knowing  whether  Roger  would 
like  it. 

But  the  world  always  knows  more  of  one's  affairs  than 
one  suspects ;  and  Mrs.  Kemp  jumped  to  my  meaning  in  an 
instant. 

"  Ah  !  then  it's  true  !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  and  he's  bent 
upon  going  off  by  himself.  But  he  mustn't  do  it,  Ursie ;  he 
must  think  of  you." 

"  He  does  think  of  me,"  I  answered,  quietly.  "  It  is  that 
which  keeps  him  back  now.  He  is  gone  to  talk  it  over  with 
Mr.  Richardson." 

"  And  he  will  take  out  a  wife  with  him,  I  suppose,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Kemp,  thoughtfully ;  "  or  he  will  find  one  there 
for  the  asking.     Well !  young  men  must  settle  themselves." 


V 


118  URSULA. 

My  heart  sank.  Mrs.  Kemp,  with  all  her  sympathy, 
was  like  the  rest  of  the  world ;  she  could  not  enter  into 
griefs  out  of  her  own  line.  A  happy  wife  herself,  she  was 
unable  to  comprehend  that  any  pang  could  be  caused  by  the 
prospect  of  seeing  others  happy  also. 

I  faced  the  subject  boldly,  and,  in  a  proud  tone,  I  said, 
"  If  Roger  wants  to  marry,  and  go  to  Canada,  he  may  de- 
pend upon  it  I  shall  never  be  the  one  to  stand  in  his  way." 

"  You  might  go  with  him,  whether  he  is  married  or  not," 
said  Mary. 

Mrs.  Kemp  interposed.  "  No,  Ursie ;  don't  be  tempted 
in  that  way.  When  people  marry,  they  are  best  left  to  them- 
selves ;  especially  at  the  beginning.  After  they  have  gone 
on  some  time,  and  become  used  to  each  other's  ways,  and 
learnt  all  there  is  to  learn,  a  sister,  or  an  aunt,  may  fit  in 
well  enough,  particularly  when  there  are  children,  and  rela- 
tions can  make  themselves  useful.  But  at  first  setting  off, 
depend  upon  it  it's  best  to  give  young  married  folks  a  push 
into  the  world,  turn  them  round  three  times,  and  leave  them 
to  shift  for  themselves.  Having  no  one  else  to  turn  to,  they 
are  forced  then  to  keep  close  to  each  other." 

"  As  if  they  wouldn't  do  it  naturally,"  said  Mary,  with  a 
shy  laugh. 

"  That  is  as  may  be,"  replied  Mrs.  Kemp,  laughing  her- 
self; "I  am  not  going  to  let  you  girls  into  those  secrets. 
Only  one  thing  I  will  say  to  you,  that  if  you  do  get  a  good 
husband,  you  will  love  him  better  at  the  end  of  twenty  years 
than  at  the  beginning,  let  his  faults  be  what  they  may." 

Mary  was  silent.  I  felt  that  she  was  probably  thinking 
of  John  Hervey,  and  something  like  a  pang  of  envy  crossed 
me  ;  for  I  was  sure  of  him,  at  least,  that,  know  him  ever  so 
long,  one  should  only  learn  to  honour  him  the  more. 

The  conversation  wandered  to  different  subjects  after 
this.  Mrs.  Kemp  made  me  tell  her  everything  I  could 
about  Mrs.  Weir, — everything,  that  is,  which  could  be  told 
without  betraying  secrets.  I  found  that  the  state  of  Mr. 
Weir's  affairs  had  been  suspected — almost  known  for  certain, 
indeed — in  the  neighbourhood  many  weeks  before ;  and  it 
had  been  no  matter  of  surprise  to  any  one  but  myself,  that 
Mrs.  Weir  and  Miss  Milicent  should  come  to  Dene  without 
him. 


UK  SUL  A.  119 

Many  stories  were  afloat, — most  of  them  of  a  disagreeable 
kind, — and  such  as  made  it  doubtful  whether  he  could  ever 
show  his  face  in  England  again  ;  but  that  which  Mrs.  Kemp, 
and  the  farmer  also  (for  he  came  in  and  joined  in  the  con- 
versation), took  most  to  heart  was,  the  prospect  of  the  Dene 
estate  falling  into  the  hands  of  Captain  Price. 

Whilst  poor  Mrs.  Weir  lay  on  her  bed,  unable  to  take 
any  thought  for  her  affairs,  the  world  had  arranged  them  for 
her,  and  in  a  very  likely,  sensible  way,  according  to  its  own 
ideas.  Captain  Price  had  a  good  deal  of  ready  money,  and 
he  was  going  to  marry  Jane  Shaw;  and.  Jane  lived  near 
Dene,  and  Dene  must  be  sold,  or  else  Mrs.  Weir  would  have 
nothing  to  live  upon.  These  facts  were  undeniable ;  so  the 
kind  world  put  them  all  together,  and  settled  the  business 
comfortably ;  and  most  of  our  acquaintances  looked  at  Jane 
Shaw,  and  thought  she  was  luckier  than  one  girl  in  a  thou- 
sand ;  and  Farmer  Kemp  and  his  wife  looked  at  Dene,  and 
the  tenants  and  labourers,  and  sighed. 

I  sighed  too,  when  I  heard  Farmer  Kemp  talk  that 
morning.  He  was  a  man  who  could  not  rid  himself  of  an 
idea  when  once  he  was  possessed  of  it,  and  who  could  scarce- 
ly help  forcing  it,  perhaps,  now  and  then,  a  little  at  the 
wrong  time,  upon  other  people.  But  being  so  earnest,  he 
caught  those  who  otherwise  might  not  have  listened ;  and 
this  morning,  though  I  came  to  Dene  full  of  my  own  fears 
and  Mrs.  Weir's  sorrows,  I  still  was  carried  away  by  what 
he  said,  so  as  for  a  time  to  be  interested  by  it. 

Of  course  people  who  have  a  hobby  of  any  kind,  try  to 
make  you  believe  that  the  one  thing  upon  which  they  have 
set  their  hearts  is  the  remedy  for  all  evils.  Farmer  Kemp 
was  so  bent  upon  his  scheme  for  improving  the  labourers' 
cottages,  that,  to  hear  him  talk,  one  might  have  fancied  that 
if  poor  people  had  sufficient  space  for  their  families  to  live 
decently,  there  would  be  no  evil  left  in  the  world. 

But  putting  aside  that  which  I  .suppose  is  the  weak  point 
with  us  all,  he  certainly  did  open  my  eyes  to  several  things 
which  I  had  never  thought  of  before.  He  made  me  see  how 
persons,  brought  up  respectably,  may  sink  into  actual  vice 
from  the  want  of  a  comfortable  home ;  how  the  wife  leaves 
her  neat  habits,  and  becomes  slovenly,  because  she  finds  it 


120  URSULA. 

useless  to  try  and  be  tidy,  when  the  wet  comes  in  at  the 
roof,  and  the  floor  is  damp,  and  the  windows  are  broken,  and 
she  cannot  get  them  mended,  and  the  children  are  sickly 
from  cold  and  draughts,  and  huddled  together  in  one  room, 
and  perhaps  three  or  four  in  one  bed.  And  he  showed  me 
also,  how  the  husband  leaves  his  fire-side,  because  he  finds 
no  comfort  there,  and  goes  to  the  ale-house,  and  so  takes  the 
first  step  on  the  road  which  is  to  lead  him  and  his  family  to 
ruin  of  body  and  soul ; — and  how  the  boys,  as  they  grow  up, 
are  driven  away  from  home  by  the  dirt,  and  quarrelling,  and 
confusion,  and  lounge  about  in  the  lanes  with  idle  compan- 
ions, and  are  at  length  led  into  great  sin ; — and  how  the 
daughters  grow  bold  and  forward,  from  being  forced  to  live, 
as  it  were,  in  public,  and  so  IodC  the  sense  of  all  which  makes 
a  woman  modest  and  respectable,  and  become  a  disgrace  and 
burden  to  their  families.  All  this,  and  much  more,  Farm- 
er Kemp  put  before  me, — and  I  listened,  for  I  could  not 
help  it,  though  my  thoughts  wandered  oflF  at  times  to  Roger 
and  Mr.  Richardson,  and  the  conversation  on  which  all  my 
plans  in  life  were  to  depend.  The  subjects  were  not  so  very 
far  apart  as  they  seemed.  If  I  did  not  go  to  Canada  with 
Roger,  I  might  have  to  live  at  Sandcombe  with  William  and 
Leah  ;  and  there  were  more  cases  than  Kitty  Hobson's  which 
I  felt  sure  would  trouble  me  if  I  was  with  them.  I  knew 
that  William  had  a  good  many  cottages  in  his  own  hands, 
and  that  the  general  opinion  was  that  he  was  a  hard  man  to 
his  labourers.  After  talking  to  Farmer  Kemp,  it  seemed 
more  impossible  than  ever  to  be  happy  witb  him  and  Leah. 

I  dined  at  Longside.  Mrs.  Kemp  would  not  let  me  go, 
and  I  waited,  expecting  Roger  every  minute,  but  he  did  not 
come ;  and  I  made  up  my  mind,  at  last,  that  he  had  gone 
home  over  the  hill,  instead  of  coming  back  for  me.  As  it 
was  by  that  time  nearly  half-past  twelve,  and  Mrs.  Kemp 
pressed  me  much  to  stay,  it  seemed  better  that  I  should. 
Roger,  I  knew,  would  eat  his  cold  meat  alone,  without 
troubling  himself  about  me,  and  I  must  confess  that  it  was  a 
great  relief  to  me  to  be  with  people  of  my  own  class,  who 
could  understand  and  feel  for  me. 

It  was  a  different  kind  of  comfort  from  that  which  I  often 
felt  in  conversing  with  Mrs.  Weir.     It  gave  me  a  feeling  of 


URSULA.  121 

breathing  fresh  air,  but  it  did  not  raise  me  up  as  talking  to 
Mrs.  Weir  did.  Mrs  Kemp  showed  me  how  to  make  use 
of  this  world,  Mrs.  Weir  how  to  despise  it.  Both  were  good 
in  their  way ;  but  Mrs.  Kemp's  lesson  was  the  first  and  easi- 
est, and  it  strikes  me  that  it  is  the  one  first  taught  us  by 
God. 

We  had  a  little  convei-sation  about  Kitty  Hobson  after 
dinner,  and  I  was  glad  to  find  that  Mrs.  Kemp  meant  to 
give  her  a  trial,  though  Leah  had  cast  her  ofi". 

It  had  been  upon  my  mind  that  something  should  be  done 
for  the  girl,  knowing  that  Leah  had  taken  no  pains  with  her, 
and  turned  her  off  without  proper  warning,  but  I  had  been 
too  much  occupied  with  my  own  troubles  to  form  any  plan 
for  her.  Mrs.  Richardson,  it  appeared,  considered  her  not 
by  any  means  hopeless,  and  had  persuaded  Mrs.  Kemp  to  take 
her,  and  put  her  under  a  steady  dairymaid,  who  would  see 
that  she  did  her  work,  and  keep  her  out  of  harm's  way.  I 
think  having  so  few  poor  people  near  me  to  care  for,  had 
made  me  more  particular  about  those  whom  I  did  at  all 
know.  I  never  could  rest  till  I  had  done  for  them  all  that 
seemed  to  lie  in  my  power,  though  that  was  little  enough. 
But,  as  Mrs.  Kemp  said,  "  If  you  can  only  stop  the  stone 
before  it  begins  to  roll  down,  you  may  keep  it  safe ;  when 
once  it  has  set  off,  there  is  no  checking  it."  Kitty  Hobson 
might  be  on  the  brink  of  everything  that  was  bad,  but  it  was 
as  yet  only  on  the  brink.  So  I  was  pleased  to  hear  that  she 
was  to  be  at  Longside,  and  I  told  Mrs.  Kemp  that,  if  she 
went  on  well,  I  thoughi  I  had  a  stuff  gown  I  could  give  her 
as  an  encouragement. 

I  felt  better  and  brighter  after  having  settled  this  little 
matter — more  able  to  look  trouble  in  the  face.  Helping 
others  always  gives  one  a  feeling  of  strength ;  at  least,  I 
have  found  it  so. 

I  shrank  less  from  the  mention  of  Canada  when  Farmer 
Kemp  and  John  Ilervcy  spoke  to  me  about  it  before  I  went 
away.  They  were  very  kind  and  straightforward,  as  was 
their  fashion,  but  both  of  them  agreed  in  advising  me  to  stay 
at  home.  I  was  sure  that  John  was  sorry  when  he  said  it, 
he  looked  at  me  so  sorrowfully ;  and  when,  at  length,  I  said 
good-bye  to  them  all,  and  set  off  on  my  way  back  to  Dene,  he 
Vol.  1—6 


122  URSULA. 

walked  part  of  the  way  with  me,  and  I  was  able  to  open  my 
heart  to  hun,  more  even  than  to  Mrs.  Kemp,  because  there 
were  subjects  connected  with  Dene  which  he  knew  more 
about  than  any  one  else. 

He  was  such  a  bright,  hopeful  person,  that  merely  talking 
to  him  did  me  good.  And  he  had  a  kind  way  of  turning  his 
mind  to  the  things  that  interested  one,  which  led  one  on  in 
spite  of  oneself.  And  then  he  understood  Roger  so  well,  so 
much  better  than  other  people.  He  knew  all  that  lay  hid 
under  that  rough,  silent  manner  of  his.  When  I  said  that 
Roger's  heart  would  break  if  he  was  left  to  bear  trouble  by 
himself,  he  did  not  laugh  as  some  might  have  done,  he  only 
said  earnestly,  though  cheerfully,  "  It  won't  do,  Ursie,  to 
take  more  care  upon  yourself  than  God  intends  for  you. 
You  may  try  to  keep  Roger's  heart  from  breaking;  and 
whilst  you  are  doing  that,  you  may  all  the  time  be  breaking 
some  other  person's.  What  is  to  hinder  you  from  running 
away  from  him  some  day,  and  setting  up  a  home  of  your 
own  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  home,"  I  answered,  eagerly.  "  Roger's  home 
is  my  home,  and  it  will  be  mine  always."  I  believe  I  said 
it  all  the  more  eagerly,  because  something  of  misgiving  lay 
at  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 

John  Hervey  laughed  as  he  answered,  "  You  may  change 
your  note  some  day,  Ursie ;  and,  anyhow,  it  is  not  wise  to 
look  to  that  only,  for  you  know  there  are  two  wills  to  the 
bargain  you  and  Roger  seem  to  have  made  ;  and  if,  after  all, 
he  keeps  to  it,  he  has  but  to  send  for  you,  and  you  can  go  to 
him." 

John  had  a  dreadful  quantity  of  common  sense.  I  don't 
think  when  he  was  a  boy  he  could  ever  have  cared  for  the 
kind  of  reading  which  had  always  been  such  happiness  to  me. 
He  never  indulged  in  notions  of  what  he  would  do  if  he  was 
in  other  circumstances.  I  am  sure  he  would  have  thought 
me  wild  if  I  had  told  him  one  quarter  of  the  fancies  and 
wishes  which  had  haunted  me  as  long  as  I  could  remember. 
It  was  just  the  present  duty  with  him,  and  nothing  bej^ond 
but  trust.  I  think  that  gave  him  his  singular  look  of  hap- 
piness ;  he  was  never  perplexed  what  to  do,  because  he  did 
what  came,  and  left  the  consequences.     Sometimes,  when  I 


U  K  S  U  L  A  .  123 

have  looked  upon  the  light,  rippling  and  dancing  on  the 
waves  below  St.  Anne's  Hill,  I  have  thought  that  it  was 
just  like  John's  sunny  mind,  making  a  clear,  bright  path 
wherever  it  moved. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

When  I  reached  home,  I  found  Mrs.  Weir  awake,  and 
inquiring  for  me.  Seeing  Mr.  Richardson  had  been  a  great 
comfort  to  her ;  but  she  was  still  in  a  maze,  not  able  to  keep 
any  on6  plan  or  idea  in  Tier  head  for  ten  minutes  together, 
except  it  might  be  the  duty  of  joining  her  husband.  Mr. 
Richardson  had  promised  to  write  and  make  inquiry  about 
him  for  her,  and  this  was  the  point  to  which  she  turned  con- 
tinually. As  to  taking  any  steps  for  removing  from  Dene  at 
present,  it  seemed  to  her  an  utter  impossibility.  Servants, 
and  carriages,  and  horses,  must  all  be  kept ;  no  one  could  tell 
why,  except  that  it  must  be  found  out  first  where  Mr.  Weir 
was. 

I  am  afraid,  poor  lady  !  she  tried  me  a  little,  I  was 
young,  with  a  clear  head,  and  strong  nerves,  and  a  good  con- 
stitution, and  I  found  it  very  difficult  to  enter  into  such  an 
anxious,  undecided  mind,  burdened  and  shattered  as  it  was 
by  long  sorrow ;  and  I  was  selfish,  too,  for  I  was  very  un- 
happy, and  never  could  endure  suspense,  and  I  felt,  though  I 
did  not  choose  to  own  it  to  myself,  that  my  plans  might 
possibly  be  determined  by  those  of  Mrs.  Weir.  It  was  so 
strange  to  me  to  see  her  sitting  in  her  drawing-room,  with 
all  her  little  comforts  and  pretty  things  about  her,  and 
working  just  as  usual,  not  seeming  to  know  how  many  im- 
portant things  were  to  be  discussed  and  arranged.  I  could 
almost  have  thought  she  did  not  fully  know  what  had  hap- 
pened, only  that  her  eyes  were  so  weak  and  red ;  and  every 
now  and  then  she  would  lay  down  her  work  and  fold  her 
hands  together,  and  I  saw  her  lips  move,  and  knew  that  the 
grief  was  so  keen  that  it  could  only  be  soothed  by  prayer. 

Active  and  sharp-sighted  as  people  called  me,  I  had  a 
great  deal  to  learn  from  Mrs.  Weir. 


124  URSULA. 

I  spent  but  a  few  minutes  with  her,  for  it  had  been  an 
idle  day  with  mc,  and  I  had  a  great  deal  to  do  at  the  cottage ; 
yet,  as  I  left  the  house,  a  sudden  impulse  seized  me  to  run 
up,  just  for  two  minutes,  to  the  seat  upon  the  bank,  and 
breathe  the  fresh  air  from  the  down.  I  went  by  the  back  of 
the  house,  instead  of  by  the  garden,  for  I  wished  to  avoid 
being  seen ;  but  I  was  not  able  to  escape  Miss  Milicent's 
watchful  eye,  and  I  had  scarcely  reached  the  little  gate 
opening  from  the  road  into  the  shrubbery  before  she  joined 
me. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Ursie  Grant  ?  I  thought  I 
should  find  you  at  home.  You  have  not  been  at  home  all 
day." 

"  No,  Miss  Milicent,"  I  said  ;  "  I  had  business  away."  I 
am  afraid  I  had  always  some  pleasure  in  baffling  her. 

"  I  have  been  wanting  you ;  I  have  a  great  many  things 
to  say  to  you.     Are  you  going  in  now  ?  " 

I  replied,  that  I  should  be  in  a  few  minutes,  and,  turning 
aside  from  the  shrubbery,  I  walked  some  paces  on,  as  though 
I  wished  to  go  out  upon  the  down. 

"  If  you  are  going  to  walk,  I  will  come  with  you,"  pursued 
Miss  Milicent. 

"  I  would  not  give  you  that  trouble,"  I  replied ;  for  I 
saw  there  was  no  chance  of  being  rid  of  her.  "  If  you  please, 
I  will  go  back  with  you  to  the  house." 

"  But  you  had  business  up  here,"  she  said,  scanning  my 
face  carefully.  "  You  were  looking  for  some  one,  or  waiting 
for  some  one." 

"  I  was  going  to  sit  by  myself,  and  think  a  little,"  I  said, 
quietly.  Such  a  strange,  doubting  look  she  gave  me  !  And 
then  she  said,  as  though  she  was  determined  to  test  me,  "  If 
it  is  your  brother  you  are  watching  for,  Ursie  Grant,  you  will 
most  likely  find  him  at  home.  He  came  back  from  Compton, 
under  the  down,  by  the  gamekeeper's  cottage." 

"  I  was  not  watching  for  any  one,  Miss  Milicent,"  was 
my  answer  ;  "  it  was  as  I  said  ;  I  was  going  to  sit  by  my- 
self" 

I  am  afraid  that  was  rather  a  rude  speech ;  but  she  ag- 
gravated me  uncommonly,  and  I  had  not  enough  religion  at 
that  time  to  enable  me  to  keep  my  passionate  temper  under 
proper  control. 


URSULA.  125 

"  It  won't  hurt  you  to  go  back  and  talk  over  some  mat- 
ters with  me,"  said  Miss  Milicent,  decidedly ;  "  and  if  Roger 
Grant  is  in,  he  can  come  and  talk  too." 

"  Roger  is  very  busy,  Miss  Milicent,"  I  replied  :  "  if 
there  is  anything  particular  to  be  said,  you  had  best,  please, 
tell  it  to  me,  and  I  will  repeat  it  to  him." 

She  stood  still  for  a  moment,  putting  her  hand  in  the 
pocket  of  her  black  jacket.  A  change  came  over  her  face, — 
I  noticed  it  though  she  turned  aside, — a  flush  was  upon  her 
cheek,  and  a  mist  seemed  to  rest  upon  her  eyes.  They  were 
not  fierce  eyes  then ;  there  was  a  world  of  feeling  in  them, 
struggling,  as  it  seemed,  to  have  vent.  But  she  kept  an  iron 
rule  over  herself,  as  she  did  over  others,  and,  whatever  there 
might  have  been  working  within,  she  prevented  it  from  com- 
ing forth  in  her  voice,  as  she  laid  her  strong  hand  on  my 
shoulder,  and  said,  "  You  will  be  leaving  Dene  soon,  TJrsie 
G-rant ;  we  shall  not  have  need  of  you  nor  of  Roger." 

My  spirit  was  up  then,  I  confess,  and  I  said,  "  We  are 
ready  to  go.  Miss  Milicent ;  Roger  has  other  work  looked 
out  for  him,  and  I  came  here  only  for  him." 

Others  might  well  have  been  angry  at  my  manner,  but  I 
doubt  if  Miss  Milicent  even  remarked  it.  She  went  on,  in 
her  own  way,  "  You  will  be  finding  other  friends,  and  you 
are  a  stirring  woman,  Ursie,  so  you  won't  have  much  time  to 
think  about  Dene." 

"  I  shall  think  about  it.  Miss  Milicent,"  I  answered.  "  I 
have  been  very  happy  here,  and  Mrs.  Weir  has  been  very 
kind." 

"  And  I  have  been  very  cross,"  she  said,  bluntly ;  and 
then  she  stopped.  "  But  it  is  no  use  to  talk  of  that.  If  I 
was  cross  without  cause,  I  am  very  sorry  now ;  and  if  I  had 
cause,  I  will  try  to  be  sorry  when  I  can  think  it  over." 

I  believe  I  smiled ;  it  was  such  a  very  odd  way  of  being 
penitent.  She  went  on,  "  I  didn't  come  to  you  to  talk  about 
that  so  much,  but  I  would  just  ask  the  question  at  once, — 
are  you  thinking  of  going  with  Roger  wherever  he  goes  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say,"  was  my  reply  ;   "  it  is  all  uncertain." 

"  But  you  must  make  up  your  mind  before  long ;  and 
what  will  you  do  till  it  is  settled  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  thought  about  it.  Miss  Milicent.  I  can't 
settle  things  in  such  a  hurry." 


126  URSULA. 

"  Then  it  is  a  pity  you  didn't  live  before  the  Deluge,"  she 
replied.  "  Life  isn't  long  enough  for  people  who  think  so 
much  before  they  know  which  foot  to  put  foremost.  I  have 
settled  all  my  matters,  and  my  mother's  too,  since  break- 
fast." 

"  They  may  be  easier  than  mine,"  I  said,  "  and  you  have 
no  one  but  yourself  and  Mrs.  Weir  to  consult." 

What  a  foolish  speech  it  was !  It  must  have  seemed  as 
though  I  alluded  to  Mr.  Weir's  absence ;  but  I  don't  know 
how  it  is,  I  often  find  that  if  there  is  anything  I  ought  not  to 
say,  I  am  sure  to  say  it. 

Miss  Milicent  stamped  her  foot  upon  the  ground  and  bit 
her  lip,  but  the  next  moment  she  was  looking  me  full  in  the 
face  ;  and  speaking  almost  angrily,  she  said,  "  If  you  haven't 
any  other  place  to  stay  at,  Ursie  Grant,  there  is  a  home  for 
you  at  Dene  whilst  we  are  here,  which  won't  be  many  weeks  ; 
and  when  we  go  to  Compton,  which  Mr.  Richardson  and  I 
think  is  best,  you  can  come  too,  and  I  think  you  may  be 
some  good  to  my  mother,  if  you  will."  The  last  words 
escaped  as  though  against  her  inclination. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Milicent,"  I  replied.  But  I  couldn't 
say  more,  for  I  scarcely  understood  what  she  meant. 

She  twisted  a  large  gold  ring,  which  she  wore  on  her 
middle  finger,  round  and  round,  as  she  always  did  when  she 
was  put  out.     Neither  of  us  said  more  for  some  seconds. 

" '  Thank  you,'  means  you  won't  stay,"  said  Miss  Milicent 
at  last. 

"  It  means  I  must  do  whatever  duty  comes  before  me,"  I 
replied. 

"  Well !  but  if  it  is  a  duty  to  help  my  mother  ?  It 
may  be." 

"  I  would  help  Mrs.  Weir  willingly,  if  I  could,"  I  replied ; 
"  but  she  is  not  my  first  claim." 

"  She  is  no  claim  at  all,"  exclaimed  Miss  Milicent ;  and 
her  face  became  crimson,  and  then  all  colour  left  it,  and  it 
grew,  not  pale,  but  a  kind  of  blueish  yellow.  She  sat  down 
upon  the  bench. 

"  You  aren't  well.  Miss  Milicent,"  I  said,  drawing  near. 

She  motioned  me  from  her,  turned  away  her  head,  and 
almost  to  my  terror  I  heard,  as  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands,  something  like  a  groan. 


URSULA.  127 

My  thought  was  to  go  away.  She  was  one  who  would 
never  forget  having  been  seen  to  be  weak  and  foolish.  But 
I  need  not  have  been  afraid.  She  rose  up  again  quite  calm, 
and  said,  more  gently,  "  It  is  not  my  mother's  wish,  nor  mine, 
Ursie,  to  interfere  with  any  claims  ;  but  there  is  much  to  be 
done,  and  a  good  head  wanted,  and  my  mother  has  been  used 
to  trust  to  you ;  and  it  seemed  that,  just  for  a  while,  till  you 
had  another  house  over  your  head,  you  might  have  been  wil- 
ling to  stay  on,  and  see  how  things  are  going ;  and  so  I  said 
it; — but  if  you  have  other  claims,  don't  think  of  it.  We 
shall  do ;  we  shall  get  on  quite  well.  Don't  think  of  it ;  " 
and  she  waved  her  hand,  as  I  was  about  to  speak,  and  moved 
towards  the  shrubbery  gate. 

How  proud  she  was ! — but  how  proud  I  was,  too  !  My 
conscience  gave  me  such  a  pang,  I  couldn't  bear  it.  I  caught 
hold  of  her  dress,  and  said,  "  Stay,  Miss  Milicent ;  don't  let 
us  part  this  way.     I  have  claims,  but  not  just  now.     I  could 

stay,   if  it  were  any  good ;  for    Mrs.   Weir "  and  the 

thought  of  her  sorrow  came  over  me,  and  my  voice  trembled. 

''  You  would  be  cared  for,"  she  said,  not  letting  herself 
be  moved. 

"  Yes  ;  Mrs.  Weir  cares  for  every  one,"  I  said. 

"  And  you  v.ould  have  board,  and  lodging,  and " 

"  It  is  all  I  want,"  I  exclaimed,  hastily. 

"  And  Fanny  is  to  stay,  to  cook,  and  do  the  work ;  and 
you  would  have  Mrs.  Mason's  rooms  for  the  time,"  continued 
Miss  Milicent. 

"  Yes,  yes,  indeed ;  I  know  it  would  be  all  very  com- 
fortable," 

"  And  you  could  go  on  with  your  work.  Nobody  would 
ask  anything  of  you, — only  if  now  and  then  you  had  a  fancy 
to  look  in  upon  my  mother ; — but  we  wouldn't  interfere.  We 
would  have  you  think  of  your  own  claims.  And  if  we  move 
to  Compton,  there  would  be  only  a  very  small  room ;  it 
mightn't  be  comfortable.  We  had  rather  you  should  go  just 
your  own  way." 

But  as  Miss  Milicent  spoke,  I  saw  by  her  restless  eye 
that  her  whole  heart  was  set  upon  the  plan. 

I  felt  it  best  to  cut  the  matter  short.  I  don't  think  I  was 
gracious ;  though  I  wished  to  be.       "  It's  best  to  take  one 


128  URSULA. 

step  at  a  time  in  such  matters,  Miss  Miliccnt,"  I  said.  "  We 
won't  settle  anything  about  Compton  now.  There  is  no  know- 
ing what  may  happen.  Roger  may  be  off  to  a  new  home, 
and  wish  me  to  go  with  him  ;  so  it  would  not  do  to  make  an 
engagement.  But  as  for  staying,  I  will  do  my  utmost  for  the 
time  being  to  help  set  matters  right  here,  and  work  for  Mrs. 
Weir  in  any  way  she  wishes  it ;  and  food  and  lodging  will  be 
quite  an  equivalent." 

Her  face  changed.  "  That  is  as  you  think,  not  as  I 
think,"  she  said ;  and  she  held  out  her  hand  to  me. 

I  took  hold  of  it.  Her  large,  strong  fingers  held  mine 
quite  in  a  gripe.  We  gave  each  other  a  hearty  shake.  "  You 
will  do  my  mother  good,  Ursie  Grant,"  she'  said. 

"  Then  I  shall  do  myself  good,  and  make  myself  happy," 
I  said,  earnestly ;  "  for  there  is  no  one  I  would  serve  sooner 
than  Mrs.  Weir."     And  so  we  parted. 

I  had  settled  upon  the  nest  step.  I  did  not  repent  it, 
even  when  I  thought  the  matter  over  quietly  by  myself. 
Aftffer  all,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  self-pleasing  in  that  notion 
of  mine,  that  I  could  never  be  away  from  Roger.  Whatever 
the  end  of  it  all  might  be,  he  would  manage  very  well  without 
me  for  a  time.  William  would  give  him  a  home  at  Sand- 
combe,  and  Leah  was  less  likely  to  complain  if  she  had  only  one 
of  us  quartered  upon  her.  And  I  had  decided,  without  ar- 
guing backwards  and  forwards,  and  consulting  my  own  wishes. 
I  had  determined  to  do  just  the  thing  put  before  me  as  a  duty, 
and  not  to  think  of  consequences ;  and  I  was  beginning  to 
learn — what  I  have  since  been  tauglit  thoroughly  by  long  expe- 
rience— that  when  a  person  is  in  a  puzzle,  being  come  to  a  point 
in  life  where  many  roads  meet,  and  there  is  no  sign-post,  there 
is  no  greater  mistake  than  to  try  and  direct  yourself  by 
your  reason.  It  won't  help  you  at  all ;  for  ten  to  one  but  it  is 
biassed  by  inclination.  Neither  are  friends  very  likely  to 
help ;  for  they  can,  for  the  most,  only  decide  according  to 
what  you  tell  them.  The  first  little  sign  of  duty  that  comes, 
if  it  is  only  in  the  way  of  setting  your  house  to  rights,  or 
casting  up  your  accounts,  is  the  sign-post  set  up  by  God's 
Providence  ;  and  when  that  is  done.  He  will  be  sure  to  open 
the  way  wider,  if  you  have  only  patience  to  wait.  But  we 
are  all  apt  to  overlook  the  little  duty,  and  think  we  will  attend 


URSULA.  129 

to  it  when  we  have  settled  the  great  one  ;  and  so  we  set  out 
on  the  wrong  road,  perhaps  never  to  regain  the  right  one.  I 
might  have  argued  with  myself  for  hours  whether  it  was  best 
to  stay  at  Dene  or  go  wherever  Roger  went,  and  not  have 
come  to  a  conclusion ;  or,  if  I  had,  I  should  not  have  been 
satisfied  that  I  had  decided  rightly.  But  Miss  Miliceut's 
oiFer,  and  the  knowledge  that  I  might  help  Mrs.  Weir,  seemed 
to  me  to  be  Grod's  sign-post,  and  I  was  thankful  that  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  follow  it. 

I  bustled  about  all  the  afternoon,  trying  to  prevent  my- 
self from  over-thinking ;  but  there  was  no  heart  in  what  I 
did,  for  was  not  everything  to  be  upset  and  undone  before 
long  ?  About  five  o'clock  I  laid  out  the  tea-things,  expect- 
ing Roger  to  come  in,  and  I  took  a  pleasure,  though  it  made 
my  heart  ache  all  the  while,  in  putting  some  stocks,  and 
sweet-briar,  and  a  rose  or  two  in  a  flower-jar  which  Jessie 
Lee  had  given  me  about  a  fortnight  before.  I  thought 
whether  such  flowers  grew  in  Canada,  and  it  seemed  as  though 
I  could  scarcely  live  without  something  bright  and  sunshiny ; 
but  I  turned  away  from  the  subject,  and  ran  across  to  the 
house  for  a  minute,  to  ask  for  Mrs,  Weir,  and  see  if  there 
was  anything  I  could  do  for  her.  Mrs.  Mason  was  making 
her  a  cup  of  coffee  ;  so  I  took  it  up,  and  we  had  a  few  minutes' 
conversation, — not  about  anything  particular,  but  there  was 
something  in  her  way  of  speaking  which  made  me  feel  how 
glad  she  was  to  have  me  about  her,  and  I  went  back  com- 
forted. 

Roger  was  coming  down  the  hill  on  horseback  as  I  left 
the  house ;  the  horse  was  quite  hot,  so  I  knew  he  had  been 
riding  fast,  not  to  be  late  for  tea.  He  called  out  to  me 
directly,  to  say  he  was  sorry  he  had  kept  me  waiting ;  and 
then  he  jumped  off,  and  led  his  horse  away  to  the  stable.  I 
did  not  go  after  him,  for  I  was  ashamed  of  my  impatience ; 
and  besides,  Roger  never  liked  to  be  made  to  tell  things 
before  his  own  time, — very  few  men  do.  Presently  he  came 
in,  looking  very  warm,  and  pushing  his  hair  off  his  forehead. 
He  sat  down  just  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  jumped  up,  and 
said  he  should  go  into  the  back  kitchen  and  wash  his  hands ; 
he  was  not  fit  to  sit  down  to  tea.  I  let  him  go,  but  it  seemed 
a  terribly  long  time  before  he  came  back.     He  drew  a  chair 

Vol.  1—6* 


130  URSULA. 

to  the  table,  and  began  cutting  some  bread.  I  gave  him  his 
cup  of  tea,  but  it  didn't  please  him,  and  he  took  up  the  milk- 
jug,  and  poured  out  an  ocean  of  milk,  only  slowly,  almost 
drop  by  drop,  looking  at  it  intently  all  the  while. 

I  could  bear  it  no  longer.     "  Well !  "  I  said. 

"Well!  Trot."    ■ 

He  smiled  so  pleasantly,  I  could  almost  have  believed  it 
was  a  dream  that  trouble  was  at  hand. 

"  Come  out  to  Canada  to  see  me  this  time  next  year, 
Trot  ?  " 

"  Then  it's  settled,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  settled." 

I  must  have  cut  my  piece  of  bread  into  twenty  bits  before 
I  tried  to  speak  again.  Roger  laid  down  his  knife,  and 
stretched  his  hand  across  the  table. 

"  Shake  hands,  little  woman ;  we  will  have  merry  days 
yet,  please  God." 

"  Merry  days  for  you,  perhaps,"  I  exclaimed,  bitterly. 
"  You  are  a  man,  and  you  like  change." 

"  I  like  doing  what  comes  to  me  as  right,"  he  said,  grave- 
ly;  "  and  so  do  you.  Trot,  when  you  let  yourself  think.  I 
have  talked  it  all  over  with  Mr.  Richardson.  He  has  known 
other  men  go  out,  and  do  well ;  and  he  thinks  I  have  a  better 
chance  than  most.  I  have  a  fair  sum  to  begin  with,  and  it 
will  go  farther  there  than  here." 

"  And  so  you  are  all  for  making  money,"  I  said.  "  That 
was  never  your  line  before,  Roger." 

He  was  very  patient  with  me.  He  saw  that  sorrow  made 
me  perverse. 

"Well!  yes,"  he  said,  and  he  laughed;  "I  am  all  for 
making  money, — not  for  money's  sake,  but  for  money's  worth, 
— that  I  may  be  of  use  in  the  world,  and  do  a  few  things  I 
have  a  fancy  for.  When  your  wedding-day  comes,  Ursie, 
you  shall  have  no  cause  to  complain,  because  your  brother 
Roger  set  out  in  life  with  a  wish  to  make  money." 

That  was  too  much  for  me.  I  jumped  up  and  kissed 
him,  and  then  I  rushed  away  to  the  window. 

When  I  came  back,  we  were  able  to  discuss  matters 
quietly.  He  told  me  that  Mr.  Richardson  had  entered  into 
the  business  very  kindly,  and  had  given  him  a  good  deal  of 
information,  having  some  relations  in  Canada.     He  had  lent 


URSULA.  131 

him  a  book,  too,  which  would  help  him  in  some  ways  ;  but 
the  thing  he  most  advised  was  that  Roger  should  go  up  to 
London,  to  consult  with  a  person  whom  Mr.  Richardson 
knew,  who  had  been  himself  in  Canada,  and  had  made  money 
there.  What  was  even  more  to  the  point,  Mr.  Richardson 
had  advised  Roger  not  to  be  too  shy  of  asking  William  for 
any  money  he  might  want.  It  might  cause  him  a  little 
trouble  to  raise  it,  but  it  was  Roger's  right,  and  if  he  gave 
up  a  good  prospect  of  doing  well  merely  from  over-scrupulous- 
ness, the  time  would  come  when  both  he  and  William  would 
repent  it.  This  advice  had  helped  Roger  a  good  deal,  I 
could  see. 

"  A  second  conscience  is  a  great  help,  Ursie,"  he  observed 
to  me,  as  he  finished  what  he  had  to  say  of  his  visit.  "  I  had 
a  fear  of  being  hard,  and  selfish,  and  pressing  my  own  wishes 
against  William's.  But  I  suppose  Mr.  Richardson  may  be 
right.  To  be  just  to  oneself  may  be  the  first  step  towards 
being  just  to  others.  Only  it  is  difficult  to  know  where  jus- 
tice ends  and  selfishness  begins." 

"  It  can't  be  with  you,  Roger,"  I  said ;  "  you  have  not  a 
grain  of  selfishness  in  you." 

"  Not  so  sure  of  that,  Ursie,"  he  said.  "  Mr.  Richard- 
son gave  me  a  hint  this  afternoon.  He  told  me  T  was  too 
fond  of  seeing  every  one  happy  about  me ;  and  so  could  not 
make  up  my  mind  to  give  pain,  even  when  it  was  needful : 
and  after  all,  that  is  only  another  kind  of  selfishness." 

"  That  was  when  you  were  talking  of  me,"  I  said. 

"  Partly  of  you,  partly  of  William  and  Leah.  They  will 
be  sadly  put  out !  " 

"  And  what  shall  I  be  ?  " 

He  came  round  me  and  patted  me  on  the  shoulder.  "  A 
stout-hearted  woman,  who  will  bear  whatever  comes,  and 
be  patient." 

"  Then  Mr.  Richardson  says  I  am  not  to  go  ?  " 

"  Not  for  a  year ;  you  will  come  then,  if  all  goes  well, 
and  I  determine  to  settle  there.  But  Mr.  Richardson  advises 
me  not  to  be  hasty.  He  thinks  his  friend  in  London  might 
put  me  in  the  way  of  finding  some  one  who  would  let  me  join 
with  him  in  managing  and  working  for  a  year,  and  so  give 
me  time  to  look  about  me.  He  says,  what  is  very  true,  that 
to  leave  one's  country  and  one's  relations  in  a  hurry,  may  be 


132  URSULA. 

a  thing  to  be  repented  of  all  one's  life.  If  I  do  stay,  I  must 
send  for  you :  and  there  are  plenty  of  people  coming  out 
continually,  who  will  take  care  of  you  on  the  voyage  ;  and  I 
can  easily  run  down  and  meet  you  wherever  you  land." 

I  was  silent. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of?  "  asked  Roger. 

"  Why,  that  you  are  a  man,  Roger,  and  are  turning  round 
to  a  new  life,  and  liking  it ;  and  not  knowing  in  the  least 
what  I  shall  feel  the  long  year  when  you  are  gone, — all  by 
myself, — no  home." 

"  Sandcombe,"  he  said; — but  his  voice  was  low,  almost 
as  though  he  was  ashamed  of  saying  it. 

"  And  you  would  like  Sandcombe,  yourself  ?  "  I  said, 
reproachfully. 

He  thought  for  a  moment, — I  saw  he  was  annoyed.  But 
the  cloud  passed  over;  and  he  answered  with  such  a  kind, 
honest  look, — I  never  saw  the  same  in  any  one  else, — "  No, 
I  should  not  like  it.  Trot ;  and  it  is  much  harder  for  you  to 
stay  than  for  me  to  go.     But  there  will  be  an  end." 

"  Grod  grant  it ! "  I  said;  "  but  it  mayn't  be  the  end  we 
are  looking  for." 

"  It  will  be  God's  end,  any  how,"  he  replied. 

He  walked  across  the  room  to  a  table  which  stood  in  the 
corner,  by  the  dresser ; — my  mother's  Bible  always  lay  upon 
it;  the  old  Bible  out  of  which  he  showed  me  the  pictures  on 
a  Sunday  afternoon,  when  I  was  a  little  girl.  He  turned  to 
the  parting  of  David  and  Jonathan ;  it  was  a  favourite 
chapter  of  his.  "  Look  here,  Ursie,"  he  said,  as  he  brought 
the  book  to  me  and  pointed  to  the  last  verses  ;  "  other  people 
before  us  have  had  to  part.  Just  read  me  the  verses  ;  I  like 
them  best  in  your  voice."  And  I  read  :  "  And  as  soon  as 
the  lad  was  gone,  David  arose  out  of  a  place  towards  the 
south,  and  fell  on  his  face  to  the  ground,  and  bowed  himself 
three  times :  and  they  kissed  one  another,  and  wept  one  with 
another,  until  David  exceeded  and  Jonathan  said  to  David : 
Go  in  peace,  forasmuch  as  we  have  sworn  both  of  us  in  the 
name  of  the  Lord,  saying  :  The  Lord  be  between  me  and 
thee,  and  between  my  seed  and  thy  seed  for  ever.  And  he 
arose  and  departed;  and  Jonathan  went  into  the  city." 

I  could  not  talk  any  more  of  business  after  that ;  but  I 
went  up  to  my  own  room  and  prayed,  and  had  a  good  cry. 


URSULA.  133 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

The  next  two  months  were  a  perfect  whirl.  As  fast  as 
anything  was  settled,  it  seemed  to  be  unsettled ;  and  every 
one's  plans  seemed  to  interfere  with  those  of  another.  Day 
after  day,  Roger  arranged  to  go  to  London,  and  see  the 
Canadian  gentleman,  Mr.  Green,  who  was  Mr.  Richardson's 
friend;  but  as  surely  as  he  had  decided  to  go,  so  surely 
something  happened  to  prevent  him.  And  all  this  time  he 
was  working  at  William  to  get  the  money-matter  settled ; 
and  William  was  hanging  back  and  raising  difficulties.  At 
last,  when  it  seemed  the  matter  would  never  come  to  an  end, 
Farmer  Kemp  ofiered  to  let  William  have  the  money,  if  he 
would  give  him  the  same  interest  and  the  same  security 
which  had  satisfied  Roger;  and  then  there  really  was  no 
longer  any  reasonable  excuse.  I  am  sure  Farmer  Kemp  did 
it  out  of  mere  love  to  Roger ;  for  he  and  William  were  not 
even  as  much  friends  as  they  used  to  be.  The  fret  about  the 
cottages  was  always  going  on ;  and  Leah  made  matters  worse, 
for  she  was  angry  because  Mrs.  Richardson  and  Mrs.  Kemp 
had  takeu  up  Kitty  Hobson.  I  did  not  trouble  myself  much 
about  Kitty,  nor  about  any  one  just  then,  except  Roger  and 
Mrs.  Weir.  When  I  was  not  thinking  of  one,  I  was  of  the 
other.  Roger  approved  of  my  plan  of  staying  at  Dene  as 
long  as  I  could,  but  how  long  that  would  be  was  a  very 
doubtful  matter.  There  was  a  report  that  Mr.  Weir  was  in 
France ;  and  then  Mrs.  Weir  was  wild  to  go  to  him  ;  but  the 
next  day  it  was  contradicted.  A  week  afterwards,  some  one 
declared  he  had  been  heard  of  in  America,  and  the  week  after 
that  it  was  France  again  ;  always  something  new,  and  always 
something  uncertain ; — and  at  last  Mr.  Richardson  and  Miss 
Milicent  consulted  together,  and  agreed  that  the  only  thing  to 
keep  Mrs.  Weir  quiet  was  to  put  out  of  her  head  entirely  the 
notion  of  going  to  her  husband.  Till  that  was  done  there 
would  be  no  coming  to  a  conclusion  about  anything  else. 

Dene,  as  I  think  I  have  said,  was  Mrs.  Weir's  own  prop- 
erty, settled  upon  her  so  that  the  creditors  could  not  touch 
it ;  but  it  was  not  a  place  she  could  live  at,  and  there  was 


134  URSULA. 

nothing  to  be  done  but  to  sell  it.  A  good  thing  it  was,  so 
every  one  said,  that  there  was  some  one  at  hand  ready  to  buy 
it.  Captain  Price  came  forward  from  the  first,  with  a  good 
ofier  for  the  house  and  grounds,  not  the  whole  estate,  he  was 
by  no  means  rich  enough  to  buy  that,  for  his  fortune  had 
been  very  much  overrated.  The  lawyers  talked  of  trying  to 
obtain  more  by  an  auction  in  London,  but  Mrs.  Weir's  trus- 
tees would  not  consent.  It  would  bring  additional  expenses, 
and  after  all  they  could  not  expect  more  than  the  fair  sum 
which  Captain  Price  was  willing  to  give.  The  interest  of 
this,  and  a  little  money  belonging  to  Miss  Miliceut,  which 
had  been  left  her  by  her  grandmother,  would,  it  was  hoped, 
enable  them  to  live  with  tolerable  comfort, 

Mrs.  Weir  was  as  passive  as  a  child  all  the  time  the  dis- 
cussions were  going  on.  I  think  it  provoked  Miss  Milicent. 
She  once  said  to  me  that  she  thought  it  quite  wicked  to  take 
everything  for  granted  in  that  way.  How  did  her  mother 
know  she  had  a  penny  ?  she  never  took  the  trouble  to  ask. 
It  was  very  true  that  God  fed  the  sparrows,  but  if  the  spar- 
rows didn't  open  their  mouths,  no  food  would  ever  get  down 
their  throats. 

There  was  some  truth  in  this,  and  I  thought  I  would  try 
and  rouse  Mrs.  Weir  a  little,  when  I  had  the  opportunity. 
And  that  came  soon  enough ;  Farmer  Kemp's  oifer  was 
accepted,  and  Roger  was  to  go  up  to  London  early  the  next 
week  to  see  Mr.  Green ;  and  then  Miss  Miliceut  proposed 
that  I  should  go  over  to  the  house  and  stay  there.  One 
reason  was  because  I  might  not  like  sleeping  at  the  cottage 
alone,  and  another  because  Mrs.  Mason  was  going  away, — a 
source  of  greater  regret  to  me  I  think  than  to  Miss  Milicent. 
I  liked  Mrs.  Mason  very  much,  and  never  forgot  the  first 
evening  of  my  coming  to  Dene,  and  how  kind  she  was,  and 
the  tea  Roger  and  I  had  with  her.  We  had  been  good 
friends  from  that  day,  and  I  owed  a  great  deal  to  her,  and  I 
hope  I  was  grateful,  though  I  was  not  what  might  be  called 
fond  of  her.  She  was  strict,  and  had  not  much  warmth  at 
the  bottom,  though  a  great  deal  of  kindliness  at  the  top.  I 
did  all  I  could  for  her  by  helping  to  pack  her  boxes,  and 
trying  to  understand  about  the  accounts  and  other  things 
which  she  had  left  not  quite  settled,  and  on  Saturday  morn- 


URSULA.  135 

ing  I  said  good-bye  to  her,  and  she  went  off  in  Farmer 
Kemp's  light  cart,  which  was  to  take  her  to  Hove;  from 
thence  I  think  she  was  going  to  London,  to  be  housekeeper 
in  some  great  family.  It  was  the  first  departure,  and  it 
made  the  place  seem  very  lonely. 

I  don't  like  now  to  recall  the  last  Sunday  with  Roger  at 
Dene.  Some  troubles  there  are  in  life  which  it  is  rather 
pleasant  to  look  back  upon,  one  feels  so  glad  to  have  escaped 
from  them.  But  there  are  others  which  arouse  a  feeling  of 
pity  for  oneself,  such  as  one  might  have  for  another.  I 
remember  having  read  a  story  of  a  lady  who  cried  over  her 
own  funeral,  and  really  I  could  almost  cry  over  my  mourn- 
fulness  on  that  Sunday.  There  was  the  last  walk  to  Comp- 
ton  Church  over  the  down,  and  the  meeting  with  William 
and  Leah,  and  the  busy  gossip  of  the  neighbours,  who  came 
up  and  talked  to  us  after  the  service,  as  if  it  was  the  com- 
monest thing  in  the  world  that  was  going  to  happen  to  us. 
And  then  William  would  make  us  go  back  with  him  to 
Satidcombe  and  dine,  and  kept  us  so  long  there  that  we  were 
late  at  Church  in  the  afternoon,  and  I  felt  that  Roger  was 
fretted  with  himself  for  giving  in.  But  we  had  a  quiet  time 
afterwards,  and  a  comforting  talk  as  we  walked  back  to 
Dene,  when  it  was  growing  cooler,  and  there  was  a  breeze  on 
the  hill  just  enough  to  give  motion  to  the  light  fern-leaves 
and  the  crimson  foxglove-bells,  and  to  lift  up  the  hot  mist 
which  had  been  hanging  all  day  over  the  sea,  and  show  the 
sparkle  of  the  waves  in  the  bay,  and  beneath  the  white  cliffs. 

They  are  there  still, — the  ferns  and  the  foxgloves  on  the 
green  hill,  the  white  cliffs,  the  broad  blue  sea, — but  they 
have  never  looked  to  me  since  as  they  did  on  that  evening. 

The  peacock  screamed  as  we  entered  the  Dene  shrubbery. 
I  should  not  have  remembered  it,  but  that  it  made  me  silly, 
for  I  burst  into  tears,  and  Roger,  seeing  Miss  Milicent  in 
the  road,  told  me  to  leave  him,  and  turn  into  the  walks  in 
the  plantation,  under  the  hill,  till  I  could  get  right  again.  I 
did  not  go  far  away,  but  remained  watching  him  through 
the  trees,  and  when  Miss  Milicent  was  gone,  I  ran  home  as 
quickly  as  I  could. 

There  was  little  to  be  done  in  the  way  of  preparation  for 
Roger's  journey,  so  we  had  a  nice  long  evening  together, 


136  URSULA. 

talking  a  good  deal  more  of  things  past  than  of  things  to 
come.  We  neither  of  us  liked  to  dwell  much  upon  them ; 
and  we  were  to  meet  again,  we  Jioped,  before  long,  and  then 
our  way  would  bo  made  clearer.  Now  we  were  like  chil- 
dren groping  about  in  the  dark. 

"  Yet  not  quite  the  dark,"  was  Roger's  last  speech  to  me 
as  we  took  our  candles  to  go  to  bed.  "  God  always  gives  us 
light  enougli  for  the  next  step," 

The  next  day  Roger  was  gone,  at  least  from  Dene,  and  I 
was  going  ;  but  whither  was  the  question  ?  I  felt  it  ought 
to  be  settled  soon,  and  that  very  afternoon  I  set  myself  to 
the  task  of  bringing  Mrs.  Weir  to  look  her  aifairs  full  in  the 
face,  and  see  what  she  was  doing,  and  what  others  were  do- 
ing for  her,  and  what  she  would  wish  to  have  done  her- 
self. Miss  Milicent,  I  think,  had  made  a  mistake  in  one  re- 
spect. She  had  managed  everything  for  her  mother  so  long, 
that  Mrs.  Weir  was  completely  out  of  the  habit  of  managing 
for  herself,  and  now  Miss  Milicent  was  inclined  to  turn 
round  and  reproach  her  for  it. 

Poor  lady !  she  looked  quite  surprised,  when  I  said  to 
her  as  I  carried  her  cup  of  coffee  into  the  drawing-room, 
about  five  o'clock,  "  You  must  have  enough  to  do,  Ma'am,  to 
settle  your  mind  when  there  is  so  much  to  be  done.  I  wish 
I  could  help  you." 

"  I  leave  it  all,"  she  replied.  "  It  will  come  right — as 
right  as  it  can.  Do  not  stand,  Ursula.  Thank  you  ;  please 
put  down  the  coffee,  and  there  is  a  seat ;  the  evenings  are 
very  long." 

"  But  growing  shorter,  Ma'am,"  I  said :  "  a  fortnight 
yesterday  past  the  longest  day ;  and  then  there  will  only 
be  six  weeks  more  of  what  one  may  call  summer." 

"  I  do  not  look  forward,  Ursula." 

"  Only  when  you  are  obliged,  I  suppose,  Ma'am.  Miss 
Milicent  tells  me  you  think  of  removing  to  the  new  house 
that  is  just  built  at  Compton." 

"  It  it  were  God's  will,  I  would  not  wish  to  move  any- 
where, Ursula,  except  to  my  grave.  I  am  only  burdensome ; 
I  can  do  no  good." 

"  Not  perhaps  in  the  way  you  would  like,  Ma'am,"  I  re- 
plied.    "  But  if  we  have  life  given  us,  I  take  it  for  granted 


URSULA.  137 

there  is  some  purpose  in  it,  if  it  is  only  to  exercise  others  in 
patience." 

I  really  did  not  mean  anything  particular.  I  intended 
only  to  answer  her  own  words,  though,  when  I  had  spoken,  I 
saw  I  might  seem  rude. 

But  Mrs.  Weir  took  my  remarks  so  quietly ! — in  the 
way  which  made  me  often  feel  that  she  had  only  just  missed 
being  a  saint. 

"  You  are  right,  Ursula,"  she  said.  "  We  must  be  con- 
tent to  be  trials,  if  we  cannot  be  blessings.  But  that  will 
never  be  your  lot,  I  feel.  God  has  bestowed  upon  you  health 
and  energy,  and  you  are  willing,  I  know,  to  make  a  good  use 
of  them." 

"  I  hope  so,  Ma'am,  I  should  like  to  make  them  useful 
to  you  now,  if  you  would  let  me.  I  shall  have  a  fortnight 
clear,  whilst  Roger  is  in  London,  before  I  shall  be  called  to 
do  anything  for  myself,  and  if  you  were  thinking  of  moving, 
I  might  be  able  to  assist  Miss  Milicent  in  packing." 

"  But,  Ursula,"  she  slowly  raised  her  eyes  with  a 
look  of  fear,  "  you  are  not  going  way  ?  Milicent  told  me  she 
had  oflFered  you  a  home.  You  could  have  it  as  long  as  you 
liked ;  and  no  one  would  ask  you  to  do  anything  you  did  not 
like." 

"  It  is  not  that.  Ma'am,"  I  replied.  "  I  hope,  if  I  had 
duties  to  attend  to,  I  should  not  think  about  liking  or  dis- 
liking ;  but  I  don't  see  my  way  to  remaining  for  long,  and 
that  is  why  I  should  be  glad  to  help  you  to  settle  yourself 
elsewhere  now,  before  I  leave." 

"  Milicent !  where  is  Milicent  ?  "  Mrs.  Weir  laid  her 
hand  upon  a  little  silver  bell,  which  was  one  of  the  many  or- 
naments of  her  table. 

"  Perhaps,  Ma'am,"  I  said,  "  we  might  be  able  to  manage 
the  matter  without  Miss  Milicent.  You  are  the  person  who 
must  decide." 

"  Yes,  I  know — ^but  Milicent, — I  wish  she  would  come." 

"  If  you  tell  Miss  Milicent  your  wish,  she  will  agree  to 
it  I  am  sure.  Ma'am,"  I  continued.  "  I  heard  her  say  to 
Mr.  Richardson  the  other  day,  that  she  only  desired  you  to 
go  where  you  would  be  most  comfortable." 

"  They  will  not  let  me  go  abroad,  Ursula ;  that  is  the 
only  thing  I  ask  for." 


138  URSULA. 

"  They  don't  see  where  you  are  to  go  to,  Ma'am,"  I  replied  •, 
"  and  whilst  you  are  thinking  about  that,  there  is  something 
else  to  be  done  just  before  your  eyes,  if  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  look  at  it." 

"  I  do  not  object  to  the  house  at  Compton,"  she  answered, 
"  I  never  said  I  did,  only  it  is  far  from  the  church." 

"  Yes,  but  not  so  far  as  this ;  and  Miss  Milicent  is  a 
good  walker,  and  it  does  not  much  matter  to  you.  Ma'am." 

"  No,  Ursula,  you  are  right  there." 

"  And  you  would  be  near  Mr.  Richardson,  Ma'am." 

"  Yes."  Her  eyes  brightened.  "  Perhaps  he  would 
come  and  see  me  oftener  then." 

"  And  it  is  better  than  going  quite  away,"  I  continued, 
whilst  I  watched  the  expression  of  the  poor  lady's  face,  hop- 
ing to  see  some  expression  of  interest ;  but  just  then,  to  my 
great  annoyance,  in  rushed  Miss  Milicent. 

"  Well,  mother  ! — Ursie  !  I  am  glad  you  are  here. — I  have 
been  over  the  hill  to  Compton,  and  seen  the  house.  They 
won't  let  us  have  it  for  less  than  fifty  pounds  unfurnished, 
and  seventy-five  furnished.  I  say  it  is  a  shame ;  but  there 
is  nothing  else  to  be  had ;  so  I  have  been  to  Mr.  Eichard- 
son,  and  he  is  coming  up  here  to-morrow,  and  you  have  only 
to  say  yes  to  him,  mother,  and  then  he  will  see  the  landlord 
in  Hove  on  Wednesday,  and  settle  it,  and  we  can  move  in 
by  nest  Monday." 

Miss  Milicent  stuck  her  hands  in  her  pockets,  and  leaned 
against  the  mantelpiece.  Mrs.  Weir  sank  back  in  her  chair, 
extinguished. 

"  It  was  just  what  Mrs.  Weir  and  I  were  talking  of,  Miss 
Milicent,"  I  said.  "  Mrs.  Weir  seems  to  think  that  Comp- 
ton will  be  the  best  place." 

"  Of  course  ;  there  is  nothing  else  to  be  done." 

"  And  you  would  not  prefer  any  other  place.  Ma'am  ?  "  I 
said. 

Miss  Milicent  looked  daggers  at  me,  and  beckoned  me 
out  of  the  room. 

Instead  of  attending  to  her  at  once,  I  waited  for  Mrs. 
Weir's  answer. 

"  I  do  not  know,  Ursula ;  it  comes  so  quickly  ;  but  it  will 
all  be  right." 


UESULA.  139 

Miss  Milicent  turned  round  at  the  door.  "  Ursie,  there 
is  some  packing  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about." 

I  followed  her  ;  she  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

"  Are  you  a  fool,  Ursie  Grant  ?  What  do  you  mean  by 
putting  notions  into  my  mother's  head  ?  The  house  at 
Compton  is  taken." 

"  Is  it  quite,  Miss  Milicent  ?  "  I  said  ;  "  surely  it  is  for 
Mrs.  Weir  to  decide." 

"  Decide  !  it  is  decided.  She  has  nothing  to  do  but  to 
say,  yes.     She  is  not  fit  for  more,  you  see." 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  I  hope.  Miss  Milicent,"  I  re- 
plied, "  but  it  seems  to  me  that  Mrs.  Weir  will  never  be  fit 
to  say  even,  yes,  for  herself,  whilst  no  one  gives  her  the  op- 
portunity of  saying,  no." 

Any  one  else  might  have  been  angry  at  my  boldness,  but 
I  will  do  Miss  Milicent  the  justice  to  own  that  she  always 
allowed  other  people  to  be  as  free  spoken  as  she  was  herself. 

"  There  is  nothing  for  her  to  say,  no,  about,"  she  replied. 
"  What  she  wishes  is  to  go  to  Compton,  and  it  is  what  the 
trustees,  and  Mr.  Richardson,  and  all  consider  to  be  best." 

"  I  only  thought  it  was  respectful  to  ask  Mrs.  Weir's 
opinion,"  was  my  reply.  "  But  I  beg  your  pardon  for  in- 
terfering. Miss  Milicent ;  it  is  no  business  of  mine." 

She  scarcely  heeded  the  remark ;  but,  as  I  was  moving 
away,  she  caught  me  by  the  arm,  and  said,  "  There  is  a  room 
for  you  at  Compton,  Ursie  Grant." 

"  Thank  you.  Miss  Milicent ;  but  I  am  afraid  it  won't 
quite  suit  me  to  use  it." 

"  But  it  will  be  ready  for  you ;  I  am  going  to  have  a  bed 
put  up." 

"  You  are  very  good ;  but  I  must  sec  what  my  duties  at 
Sandcombe  are  first." 

"  You  have  no  duties  at  Sandcombe,  Ursie,  none  half  so 
great  as  staying  with  us  and  helping  my  mother.  Mr.  Rich- 
ardson and  I  settled  it  was  the  best  thing  you  could  do." 

My  spirit  was  up  then,  and  I  felt  my  cheek  flush. 

"  I  thank  you  for  troubling  yourself  about  me.  Miss  Mili- 
cent," I  said,  "  but  I  think  it  might  be  better  for  me  to  de- 
cide for  myself  If  you  please,  I  will  let  you  know  what  I 
determine  by  next  Thursday."  And  making  an  excuse  of 
business,  that  I  might  not  be  urged  any  more,  I  hurried  away. 


140  URSULA 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  next  clay  I  went  over  to  Sandcombe.  Little  as  I 
fancied  taking  advice  from  Leab,  I  yet  felt  that  it  would  be 
right  to  hear  what  her  ideas  were  as  to  giving  me  a  home 
there,  and  whether  I  should  be  a  help  or  a  burden  to  her. 
Besides,  it  was  Roger's  wish  that  I  should  talk  matters  over 
with  her  and  William,  and  though  I  should  have  liked  to  go 
my  own  way  independently,  it  did  not  seem  right  to  keep 
aloof  from  relations. 

There  was  plenty  of  work  going  on  in  the  farm-yard  and 
the  out-houses,  but  the  house  itself  seemed  dull  as  I  went  in. 
I  missed  Jessie  Lee's  voice.  When  she  was  there  she  was 
generally  to  be  heard  singing,  and  the  notes  were  like  a  bird's, 
they  were  so  sweet ;  but  it  was  all  silent  now,  except  the 
sound  of  my  own  footsteps  as  I  walked  up  the  stone  passage. 
I  went  straight  to  the  little  parlour,  and  knocked,  thinking 
I  should  be  sure  to  find  Leah  there.  It  was  William  who 
said  "  Come  in ;  "  and  when  I  went  in,  I  found  them  both 
together,  looking  as  thovigh  something  was  very  much  amiss. 

Leah  broke  out  directly,  scarcely  allowing  time  for  Wil- 
liam to  shake  hands  :  "  Here  is  a  fuss,  Ursie ;  Jessie  has 
been  as  good  as  brought  up  by  us,  and  now  mother  is  going 
to  take  her  quite  away.  So  that  we  are  not  to  depend  upon 
her  any  more.  It  is  too  hard,  after  all  the  trouble  I  have 
had  with  her;  but  mother  complains  of  feeling  lonely." 

This  was  not  surprising,  for  Mr.  Morris  had  died  shortly 
before,  and  Mrs.  Morris  had  left  the  farm,  and  was  living  in 
a  comfortable  little  house,  in  Hatton,  whilst  her  son  was  try- 
ing farming  in  a  distant  county. 

"  I  thought  we  shouldn't  be  allowed  to  keep  Jessie  much 
longer,"  said  William  ;  "  especially  now  Mrs.  Morris  is  ill." 

"  It  is  only  rheumatism ;  she  will  be  well  enough  before 
long,"  said  Leah ;  "  and,  of  course,"  she  added,  seeing,  I 
suspect,  that  I  looked  a  little  ashamed  of  her  cool  way  of 
talking,  "  I  shouldn't  mind  giving  her  up  for  a  time,  just 
till  mother  is  well ;  but  I  had  put  off  getting  extra  help, 
quite  depending  upon  Jessie;  and  now  there  is  hay-making 


URSULA.  141 

scarcely  over,  and  harvest  coming  on,  and  ever  so  mucli  to 
be  done,  and  I  have  not  a  creature  to  look  to." 

My  heart  sank ;  I  saw  which  way  things  were  tending, 
and  I  don't  think  I  knew  till  then  how  I  dreaded  the  notion 
of  a  home  at  Sandcombe.  I  made  no  answer,  and  Leah  went 
on  with  her  complaints. 

"  The  new  girl  wants  a  sharp  eye  upon  her,  and  I  can't 
be  in  two  places  at  once,  and  Jessie  looked  after  the  dairy, 
and  took  the  poulti-y  quite  off  my  hands,  and  was  a  very  fair 
cook,  thanks  to  my  teaching.  It  is  too  hard  that  she  should 
be  taken  from  me  at  a  moment's  notice." 

"  Another  girl  will  only  be  another  mouth  to  feed,"  said 
William,  decidedly.  "  We  have  too  many  about  the  place 
already ;  Farmer  Kemp  does  with  one,  and  I  don't  see  why 
we  shouldn't." 

Leah  bit  her  lip,  and  observed  that  she  had  not  married 
to  be  made  a  slave,  and  have  the  Kemps  thrown  in  her  face 
always.  Mrs.  Kemp  had  Mary  to  help  her,  and  she  was 
worth  fifty  girls. 

"  Well  then,  here  is  Ursie,"  said  William,  trying  to  look 
very  good-natured  and  disinterested.  "  She  is  coming  to 
make  a  home  here,  and  I  am  sure  she  will  be  willing  enough 
to  work  for  her  board." 

A  fair  proposal  it  was  ;  but  Roger  would  not  have  said 
it.  I  answered,  cautiously,  "  You  must  not  depend  upon 
me,  William ;  Mrs.  Weir  wants  me  to  stay  with  her." 

"  Stay  with  Mrs.  Weir ;  why  she  has  scarcely  butter 
enough  for  her  own  bread,  much  less  for  yours,"  exclaimed 
Leah.  "  You  are  not  going  to  be  such  a  goose,  Ursie,  as  to 
stay  with  her  !  " 

"  I  suppose  I  am  not  likely  to  get  much  more  than  butter 
here,"  I  replied,  laughing.  "  You  are  not  going  to  hire  me 
as  your  servant ;  neither  you  nor  Mrs.  Weir  are.  In  both 
places  I  should  be  required  to  work  for  my  board ;  and  at 
Mrs.  Weir's  I  might  have  time  to  make  a  little  money  over 
and  above  for  myself,  by  nccdle-work." 

"  And  what  is  to  hinder  you  from  having  time  here  ?  " 
replied  Leah. 

"  Jessie  had  none,"  I  answered.  "  If  I  am  to  work  as  hard 
as  Jessie,  I  shall  not  be -better  off." 


142  URSULA. 

I  could  not  help  saying  this,  for  I  had  always  felt  that  it 
was  a  shame  for  them  to  put  so  much  upon  Jessie,  and  not 
let  her  have  any  help  when  they  could  very  well  afford  it, 

"  She  does  not  want  to  come,"  said  William,  speaking 
to  Leah,  in  a  vexed  tone ;  "  that  is  the  long  and  the  short  of 
the  matter." 

He  was  quite  right ;  but  I  ought  not  to  have  let  it  out. 
I  was  wrong,  as  I  always  was  when  I  did  not  like  things  or 
people.  No  wonder  that  I  was  often  called  ungracious.  I 
tried  to  correct  myself,  and  answered,  "  Please  don't  say  that, 
William ;  the  long  and  the  short  of  the  matter,  as  you  call 
it,  is,  that  it  is  my  duty  to  do  the  best  I  can  for  myself  dur- 
ing Roger's  absence.  I  have  a  fair  supply  of  needle-work 
now,  and  could  get  more,  and  that  is  what  I  have  to  look  to 
to  keep  me  in  clothes,  unless  I  take  from  the  little  I  have 
laid  by,  which  is  against  Roger's  wish,  and  my  own  too. 
Wherever  I  go  I  must  either  be  paid  for  my  services  or  have 
certain  times  to  myself,  and  it  would  only  be  deceiving  you 
to  pretend  to  come  here  and  take  Jessie's  place,  when  I  could 
not  take  Jessie's  duties." 

"  Then  what  did  you  think  of  doing  if  you  came  here  ?  " 
asked  Leah,  sharply. 

"  I  had  not  thought  much  about  it,"  I  replied.  I  could 
not  say  more,  for  my  voice  was  quite  choked. 

I  think  William  perceived  what  I  felt,  for  he  said  in  a 
tone  of  excuse,  "  Of  course,  Ursie,  we  should  not  talk  of 
your  working  for  your  board  if  we  could  help  it,  and  if  we. 
didn't  know  it  would  make  you  more  comfortable.  But  we 
are  sure  you  would  never  bear  to  be  a  burden,  and  this  has 
been  a  bad  year,  you  see ;  the  hay  is  poor,  and  little  enough 
of  it ;  and  turnips  want  rain  ;  and  our  wheat  is  not  looking 
half  as  well  as  that  on  the  other  side  of  Hove  ;  and,  what 
with  the  repairs  of  the  cottages,  and  the  lawyer's  expenses 
which  have  come  from  Roger's  whim,  I  am  likely  to  find  my- 
self short  at  Christmas.  I  thought  you  and  Roger  would 
have  understood  this,  and  would  have  been  willing  to  lend  a 
helping  hand." 

"  I  am  willing,  quite  willing,"  I  exclaimed,  "  I  wouldn't 
be  indebted  " — I  was  going  to  be  ungracious  again,  but 
something  brought  the  thought  of  Mrs.  Weir  and  her  patient 


URSULA.  143 

gentleness  to  my  mind,  and  I  added  quietly,  "  If  I  do  come 
to  you,  William,  I  don't  think  you  will  ever  find  me  un- 
willing to  lend  a  helping  hand  to  the  utmost.  I  should  be 
bound  to  do  it,  just  as  I  was  bound  to  help  Roger.  But  it 
would  be  foolish  to  promise  to  take  a  girl's  place,  or  do  the 
things  Jessie  did,  because  I  should  require  to  have  some 
time  to  myself  in  the  afternoons.  That  is  all  I  meant  to 
say." 

"  And  that  would  do  very  well,  Leah,  wouldn't  it  ?  "  said 
William,  and  he  walked  to  the  door,  and  waited  with  the 
handle  in  his  hand,  impatient  to  be  gone. 

"  If  Ursie  wasn't  so  uppish,  she  would  have  seen  long 
ago  that  it  was  all  we  wanted,"  said  Leah ;  "  I  don't  under- 
stand myself  what  all  the  fuss  has  been  about." 

"  Nor  I  neither,"  said  William,  and  he  came  back  and 
kissed  me.  "  You  know,  Ursie,  if  I  was  a  rich  man  you 
should  have  a  home  here  as  long  as  you  liked,  just  for  the 
asking." 

"  Thank  you,  William.  When  Roger  and  I  are  in 
Canada,  whether  we  are  rich  or  poor,  you  shall  have  a  home 
without  the  asking." 

William  went  ofi"  quickly,  trying  to  hum  a  tune,  which 
somehow  I  don't  think  came  quite  easily.  Leah  turned  to 
me  rather  sharply.  "  What  did  you  mean,  Ursie,  just  now, 
by  saying  you  were  going  to  stay  with  Mrs.  Weir,  when  she 
won't  have  a  house  over  her  head  ?  Dene  is  to  be  sold,  and 
the  whole  estate  is  mortgaged  up  to  its  full  value  and  over, 
and  there  is  to  be  a  subscription  raised  for  Mrs.  Weir 
amongst  her  friends,  and  Miss  Milicent  is  going  out  as  a 
governess." 

I  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  which  made  Leah  quite 
angry.  "  It  is  very  well  for  you  to  laugh,"  she  said,  "  but 
it's  true.  I  had  it  from  the  best  authority ;  of  course  they 
don't  tell  you  everything  ;  why  should  tliey  ?  But  you  will 
find  it  so ;  and  as  for  your  notion  of  living  with  Mrs.  Weir, 
you  might  as  well  think  of  living  with  the  man  in  the  moon." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  shan't  think  of  living  with  him 
soon,"  I  replied.  "  There  will  be  a  chance  of  hearing  less 
gossip  and  more  truth  there  than  here.  Jane  Shaw,  I  sup- 
pose, told  you  this  nonsense." 


144  URSULA. 

"  And  ste  is  more  likely  to  know  than  any  one  else," 
answered  Leah,  "  seeing  she  is  to  be  mistress  of  Dene." 

I  waited  before  answering,  for,  often  lately  as  I  had 
heard  Jane's  prospects  spoken  of,  I  could  not  yet  make  up 
my  mind  to  take  the  notion  patiently. 

"  The  wedding  is  to  come  off  the  end  of  September," 
continued  Leah,  anxious  to  pour  out  all  she  knew.  "  Captain 
Price's  sisters  and  an  aunt  are  coming,  and  a  good  many 
gentlemen  friends,  and  Jane  is  thinking  already  about  her 
dress,  Jessie  says.  I  don't  believe,  though,  for  my  part, 
that  Dene  will  be  ready  for  them  by  that  time.  There  will 
be  a  good  deal  to  do  with  papering,  and  painting,  and  fur- 
nishing, after  the  old  lady  is  gone.  Jane  says  she  is  not 
going  to  be  particular,  and  they  can  wait  for  the  new  dining- 
room  furniture  till  next  year,  but  I  don't  fancy  they  will 
when  it  comes  to  the  point.  By  the  by,  Ursie,  you  must  be 
upon  your  best  behaviour,  and  remember  to  say  Miss  Shaw 
now.     Jessie  tells  me  Jane  quite  expects  it." 

"  I  am  very  willing,"  I  answered.  "  She  would  never 
have  been  Jane  Shaw  to  me,  if  I  had  not  known  her  from  a 
child.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  in  Hatton,  Leah  ? 
I  am  going  on  there  to  get  a  few  things  for  the  house." 

"  Nothing ;  unless — well,  you  might,  perhaps,  carry  a 
parcel  over  to  Jessie.  She  left  a  gown  here,  and  a  pair  of 
shoes." 

One  of  the  farm  boys  lived  at  Hatton,  and  might  very 
well  have  taken  the  parcel,  but  I  was  unwilling  to  appear 
unkind.  Besides,  it  saved  Leah  a  penny ;  for  the  child  might 
have  expected  something  for  his  trouble.  I  knew  she  would 
not  forget  that. 

"  And  when  are  you  coming,  Ursie  ?  "  was  Leah's  gra- 
cious invitation  at  parting. 

"  I  will  let  you  know,  when  I  have  settled  about  Mrs. 
Weir,"  I  replied.  "  Good-bye,"  and,  burdened  with  my 
parcel,  I  departed. 

I  made  my  way  up  the  cart-road  to  the  top  of  the  down, 
and  then  sat  down  to  rest  for  a  few  minutes,  and  if  I  could, 
to  think.  I  was  in  a  greater  perplexity  than  before,  for  I 
felt  as  though  I  had  been  drawn  on  farther  than  I  intended. 
My  only  thought  in  going  over  to  Sandcome  was  to  find  out 


URSULA.  145 

whether  William  and  Leah  really  wished  me  to  stay  with 
them,  and  were  likely  to  be  in  any  way  hearty  about  it.  In 
that  case,  and  if  they  had  thrown  themselves  at  all  into  my 
position,  I  could  have  talked  over  everything  openly  and 
easily.  But  this  fashion  of  bargaining,  and  making  the  most 
of  me,  threw  me  back  upon  myself.  It  was  no  use  to  ask 
advice  of  people  who  were  only  bent  upon  seeing  things  their 
own  way,  for  their  own  advantage.  I  could,  indeed,  write  to 
Roger,  but  it  might  make  ill-will  between  him  and  William 
to  explain  what  I  felt,  and  that  would  never  do,  especially 
just  as  he  was  going  away  from  England,  perhaps  never  to 
come  back  again.  If  a  disagreeable  thing  is  to  be  done,  the 
fewer  people  there  are  concerned  in  it  the  better.  Moreover, 
at  the  bottom  of  my  heart  lay  a  doubt  as  to  what  Roger 
would  say.  He  would  very  likely  tell  me  that  it  was  a  safe 
home,  and  that  I  had  better  be  patient  and  bear  up,  and  it 
would  soon  be  over,  and  I  should  join  him  in  Canada. 

But  that  would  be  his  man's  way  of  looking  at  the  great 
end,  and  not  seeing  the  little  steps  by  which  it  is  to  be 
reached ;  and  I  never  shut  my  eyes  as  he  did  to  the  pos- 
sibility that  the  day  for  me  to  join  him  in  Canada  might 
never  come,  and  that  the  step  I  was  going  to  take  now  was 
one  which  must  have  an  influence  upon  my  future  life. 

I  hated  Sandcombe.  I  really  don't  think  the  word  is  too 
strong.  I  did  not  hate  William  and  Leah,  but  I  hated  all 
their  ways  of  looking  at  things. 

When  I  was  with  them  I  felt,  as  it  were,  unable  to 
breathe.  I  had  to  think  of  every  word  I  said,  and  check  even 
the  tone  of  my  voice,  lest  I  should  show  the  feelings  which 
would  rise  up  in  spite  of  myself,  and  must,  I  knew,  give 
offence.  A  room  to  myself  in  a  cottage  would  have  been 
Paradise  compared  to  a  home  at  Sandcombe.  And  there 
was  Mrs.  Weir  in  great  trouble,  and  wanting  me ;  and  even 
Miss  Milicent  setting  her  heart  upon  having  me.  There 
seemed  no  question  which  would  be  the  best.  Let  William 
and  Leah,  and  even  Roger,  say  what  they  might,  I  would 
make  up  my  mind  to  remain  with  Mrs.  Weir. 

If  only  I  had  not  disliked  Sandcombe  quite  so  much  ! 
It  was  the  one  thing  which  made  me  pause. 

As  I  sat  upon  the  hill,  meaning  every  minute  to  walk 
Vol.  I.— 7 


146  URSULA. 

on,  and  yet  tempted  to  rest  a  little  longer,  I  heard  the  soft 
sounds  of  horses'  hoofs  upon  the  turf.  Two  men  were  can- 
tering across  the  down,  from  the  direction  of  Hatton  gate. 
As  they  came  nearer,  I  knew  them  to  be  Farmer  Kemp  and 
John  Hervey. 

They  passed  me  at  first  without  knowing  me ;  but,  im- 
mediately afterwards,  I  heard  John  say,  "  Why,  there  is 
Ursie  Grant !  "  and  he  turned  his  horse  and  rode  up  to  me, 
and  the  Farmer  trotted  up  after  him. 

"  Here,  all  alone,  lassie  !  "  called  out  the  Farmer,  as  he 
drew  in  his  horse.  "  I  should  never  have  expected  to  see 
you  sitting,  doing  nothing,  so  early  in  the  day." 

"  Only  resting,"  I  replied,  and  I  stood  up,  "  I  have 
been  to  Sandcombe,  and  I  am  going  on  to  Hatton." 

"  And  carrying  a  good-sized  load  with  you,"  said  John, 
looking  at  Jessie's  parcel. 

"  Not  a  very  heavy  one,"  I  answered,  and  I  smiled  a  lit- 
tle; but  I  suppose  the  smile  was  not  a  very  hearty  one,  for 
the  Farmer  changed  his  tone  directly,  as  he  said,  "  You  are 
not  doing  well  for  yourself,  Ursie  ;  you  had  much  better 
come  down  to  Longside,  and  have  a  talk  with  my  goodwoman  ; 
it  will  do  you  more  good  than  thinking." 

"  I  have  some  things  to  buy  at  the  grocer's,  at  Hatton," 
I  said,  "  and  here  is  Jessie  Lee's  parcel  to  be  taken  to  her  ; 
I  don't  think  I  can  come  to  Longside  to-day." 

"  It  wouldn't  take  me  ten  minutes  to  ride  back  with  the 
parcel,"  said  John  very  good-naturedly ;  "  but  I  don't  know 
so  well  about  the  grocer.  What  is  to  be  done  there,  Ursie  ? 
My  housekeeping  has  been  on  a  small  scale  hitherto,  so  I  am 
not  up  to  the  needs  of  a  family." 

"  Then  it  is  time  you  should  learn,"  said  the  Farmer, 
sharply,  but  laughing  as  he  spoke.  "  Don't  you  think  so, 
Ursie  ?  It  is  not  every  man  who  has  a  wife  he  can  trust  to 
manage  her  own  housekeeping." 

"  He  is  a  foolish  man  who  marries  a  wife  he  can't  trust, 
I  replied. 

John  laughed  merrily,  and  said  I  had  made  a  good  an- 
swer, and  he  quite  agreed  with  me  ;  and  if  ever  he  married 
a  woman  who  couldn't  go  to  the  grocer's,  he  should  think  he 
deserved  the  fate  of  a  fool. 


URSULA.  147 

"  The  fjxte  of  George  Price,  Esq.,  when  he  marries  Miss 
Jane  Shaw,"  said  the  Farmer,  twirling  his  whip  in  the  air. 
''  If  ever  there  was  a  man  bent  upon  riding  to  ruin,  full 
gallop,  it's  that  young  jackanapes.  There  must  be  some- 
thing in  the  air  of  Dene  that's  catching.  But  come.  Ursie, 
hand  up  your  parcel  to  John,  and  turn  back  with  me.  I  can 
walk  my  horse,  and  you  shall  tell  me  about  Roger." 

It  was  a  great  temptation ;  a  kind  word  and  a  friendly 
thought  were  so  specially  dear  to  me  just  then  ;  but  I  was 
in  a  difficulty  as  to  managing  my  purchases  at  the  grocer's. 

John  Hervey  noticed  my  hesitation.  "  Shopping  and 
all,"  he  said  ;  "  I  can  manage  it,  Ursie." 

"  I  have  known  you  long  enough  to  be  sure  of  that,"  I 
replied. 

"  Don't  trust  him  too  far,  though,"  said  the  Farmer. 
"  He  is  well  enough  wlien  there's  no  fun  in  the  way,  but  let 
him  get  a  scent  of  the  hounds — they  are  out  to-day — and 
your  parcel  would  go  to  the  winds,  and  the  grocer's  business 
after  it.  I  vow  that  mare  understands ;  she  pricks  up  her 
ears  at  the  very  name." 

"  I  would  trust  Mr.  Hervey,  hounds  or  no  hounds,"  I 
said ;  "  if  he  undertook  it  he  would  do  it." 

John's  face,  which  was  like  a  sunbeam  generally,  clouded 
over  for  a  moment.  I  thought  I  had  been  too  bold,  and 
spoken  as  if  I  was  his  equal ;  which  I  was  not,  for  he  was  a 
man  when  I  was  a  child,  and  I  had  always  been  taught  to 
look  up  to  him. 

"  I  should  not  like  to  give  you  the  trouble,  though,  Mr. 
Hervey,"  I  said.  "  Mary  Kemp  and  I  might  be  able  to  walk 
over  to  Hatton,  late." 

The  mare  was  becoming  restive,  and  John  jumped  off 
and  caught  up  the  parcel  from  the  ground.  "Now,  Ursie, 
the  list ;  I  shall  overtake  you  before  you  are  at  Longside." 

I  had  the  paper  inside  my  glove,  and  I  took  it  out  and 
gave  it  to  him.  He  returned  me  such  a  squeeze  of  the  hand. 
I  cried  out,  and  we  both  laughed ;  and  he  was  mounted 
again,  with  the  parcel  before  him,  and  galloping  towards 
Hatton  gate,  before  I  had  time  to  put  my  glove  on. 

"  A  capital  good  fellow ! "  said  the  Farmer,  "  and  a 
merry  one  too !  Now,  lassie,  step  out,  and  my  Dobbin  shall 
step  in,  and  so  we'll  keep  together." 


148  URSULA 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Farmer  Kemp  and  I  had  but  little  conversation  upon 
anything  specially  important  to  me,  on  our  way  to  Longside. 
I  told  him  what  I  knew  about  Roger's  plans,  but  it  was  little 
use  to  consult  him  about  Mrs.  Weir  and  Leah.  It  was  not 
in  his  way  to  give  advice  upon  such  matters,  and  the  very 
reason  ho  was  taking  me  back  with  him  to  Longside  was, 
that  I  might  talk  things  over  with  his  wife  and  Mary.  But 
in  his  honest,  kind-hearted  way,  he  showed  me  true  sym- 
pathy ;  even  when  he  talked  about  his  own  concerns,  such  as 
draining,  and  horse-hoeing,  and  drilling,  he  had  always  a 
word  to  say  about  Roger  and  his  prospects,  and  it  cheered 
me  to  hear  him  speak  of  the  probability  of  his  doing  well  as 
almost  a  certainty.  Not  that  Farmer  Kemp  knew  much 
about  Canada,  or  how  people  farmed  there;  but  I  was  in 
such  a  maze  and  doubt  about  everything  that  I  clung  even  to 
straws  for  comfort. 

The  Farmer  took  me  into  the  parlour  at  Longside,  and 
sent  Mary  to  fetch  a  piece  of  cake  and  a  glass  of  wine,  order- 
ing, at  the  same  time,  a  cup  of  ale  for  himself,  with  which  he 
drank  to  my  good  health  and  good  fortune,  and  a  husband  by 
that  time  twelvemonth ;  and  then  he  kissed  me  on  both 
cheeks,  saying,  "  he  didn't  know  why  he  wasn't  to  have  an 
old  man's  privilege,"  and  went  away,  tramping  down  the 
passage,  calling  for  his  wife,  and  singing  the  chorus  of  a  har- 
vest song. 

Mrs.  Kemp  came  in  soon  afterwards.  Mary  offered  to 
go  away,  and  I  said  nothing  to  prevent  her,  for  I  felt  I  might 
have  things  to  mention  about  others  which  might  seem  un- 
kind, and  there  was  no  need  to  have  them  poured  into  more 
ears  than  was  necessary. 

"  Well,  Ursie  !  so  the  Farmer  says  you  are  come  to  have 
a  talk,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp ;  and  she  went  to  the  cupboard,  and 
fetched  her  work-box ;  and,  sitting  down  in  the  leathern  arm- 
chair, began  to  mend  a  pair  of  her  husband's  worsted  stock- 
ings. "Can  I  help  you,  child ?  I  am  willing,  as  you 
know." 


URSULA.  149 

Something  of  a  daughter's  fech'ng  towards  a  mother  came 
over  me,  as  I  drew  my  scat  towards  her  chair,  aud  rested  my 
haud  ujoon  the  arm,  aud  said,  "  Dear  Mrs.  Kemp,  if  I  knew 
what  was  right  to  be  done,  I  shoukln't  care  for  anything." 

"  Except  doing  it,  I  suppose,  you  mean,"  she  said. 

"  It  would  be  easy  enough  to  do,  either  way,"  I  replied. 
"  Roger  says  it  is  not  to  be  for  long ;  and  the  Farmer  tells 
me  it  will  all  come  right  with  him  and  me  in  the  end.  But 
it  is  the  present  time  that  is  the  difficulty, — whether  to  stay 
with  Mrs.  Weir,  or  go  to  Sandcombe;  "  and  I  told  her  all 
that  had  passed,  and  the  offers  I  had  had  about  both  places. 
She  listened  very  kindly ;  but  when  I  stopped  she  made  no 
answer. 

"  Well !  "  I  said,  a  little  impatiently. 

"  You  have  it  in  your  heart,  Ursie,  to  stay  with  Mrs. 
Weir." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  From  your  way  of  putting  things  ;  and  I  don't  say  but 
that  it  is  natural.  Leah  Grant's  is  not  such  a  very  tempting 
home,  setting  aside  that  it  is  your  brother's." 

"That  makes  it  worse,"  I  said;  "if  it  was  not  my 
brother's  I  could  put  up  with  it;  but  the  aggravation  of  one's 
own  relations  is  past  bearing." 

"  Well !  it  is  hard,  certainly  ;  but  it  is  God's  will  to  give 
us  relations." 

"  And  it  is  His  will  that  they  should  act  as  such,  I  sup- 
pose," was  my  reply. 

"  Surely;  and  I  dou't  sec  quite  how  William  Grant  and 
his  wife  have  failed.  They  will  give  you  a  home  and  be  kind 
to  you." 

"Oh!  Mrs.  Kemp!  please — 1  don't  think  you  under- 
stand at  all,"  I  exclaimed.  "  If  you  had  only  been  there 
and  heard  them " 

"  I  should  have  said  they  took  things  coolly,"  said  Mrs. 
Kemp ;  "  but  I  should  not  have  thought  they  were  wanting 
in  duty." 

"  I  don't  care  for  duty  ;  it  is  love  I  need." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Mrs.  Kemp,  thouglitfully. 

"  Don't  you  know  what  I  want?  "  I  continued.  "  If  I 
am  to  be  left  alone  all  this  year,  I  must  be  with  people  who 
are  fond  of  me." 


150  URSULA. 

"  Oil ! "  again  repeated  Mrs.  Kemp. 

I  was  vexed  with  her ;  and  I  dare  say  showed  it  by  my 
face ;  for  I  would  not  speak. 

"  Now  don't  be  fretted,  Ursie,  dear,"  continued  Mrs. 
Kemp,  kindly.  "  You  see  I  am  not  so  quick  at  taking 
things  in  as  some  people  are  ;  and  I  must  make  out  what  you 
are  aiming  at  before  I  can  lend  you  a  helping  hand.  If  you 
want  to  know  where  you  will  be  most  cared  for,  that  is  one 
thing ;  but  if  you  want  to  find  out  where  it  is  right  you  should 
be,  that  is  another." 

"  Then  you  are  like  Roger,  and  all  the  rest,"  I  exclaim- 
ed ;  "  you  would  have  me  go  and  be  a  slave  at  Sandcombe, 
dancing  attendance  upon  Leah's  whims,  and  not  getting, 
'thank  you,'  for  my  pains;  and  you  would  have  me  leave 
poor  Mrs.  Weir  in  her  trouble,  and  Miss  Milicent  not  know- 
ing in  the  least  how  to  manage  for  her.  Poor  lady  !  she  may 
die,  for  aught  I  know,  if  she  is  left  to  Miss  Milicent's  care." 

"  Well !  but  Ursie,  child,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kemp,  look- 
ing up  in  surprise,  "  she  has  had  no  one  but  Miss  Milicent  to 
look  after  her  these  many  years." 

"  Oh  !  but  it  was  different  then ;  she  was  in  less  trouble, 
and  she  had  not  been  accustomed  to  depend  upon  me  so 
much ;  and  her  husband  was  at  home  ;  and — it  was  quite 
different  then — it  was  indeed." 

"  She  was  in  less  trouble,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp ;  "  that  is 
true ;  she  must  want  more  comfort  just  now.  But,  Ursie, — 
then  you  have  a  notion  of  living  with  her  always." 

"  I  !  dear  Mrs.  Kemp,  how  could  such  a  thought  enter 
your  head  ?  " 

"  Only,  my  dear,  you  said  she  was  becoming  accustomed 
to  depend  upon  you ;  and  I  fancied  what  it  would  be  next 
year,  when  you  would  probably  have  to  leave  her." 

"  I  must  let  next  year  take  care  of  itself,"  I  replied ; 
"  she  must  learn  then  to  do  without  me." 

"  Well !  yes,  that  may  be  the  best  way.  But,  perhaps, 
in  that  case,  she  might  learn  to  do  without  you  now."  See- 
ing that  I  made  no  reply,  Mrs.  Kemp  went  on,  taking  my 
hand  kindly,  and  fixing  her  sweet  brown  eyes  on  my  face,  as 
though  begging  me  to  bear  with  her  if  she  said  things  I  dis- 
liked to  hear.     "  My  dear,  I  don't  want  to  cross  you.  There 


U  E  SU  L  A  .  151 

is  not  much  need  to  tell  yon  that ;  but  you  have  no  mother, 
and  I  would  fain  be  one  to  you.  You  see,  it  strikes  me  that 
you  have  rather  a  twisty  way  of  looking  at  this  matter,  to 
suit  your  owu  wishes,  which  are  natural  enough  and  right 
enough  in  their  way.  If  you  settle  to  stay  with  Mrs.  Weir, 
because  she  can't  do  without  you  this  year,  you  will  have  just 
the  same  reason  for  staying  with  her  next  year ;  and  a  much 
stronger  one,  because  you  will  have  made  yourself  more 
needful  to  her.  But  you  would  be  unwilling,  I  suppose,  to 
remain  then." 

"  It  would  be  out  of  the  question,"  I  exclaimed  ;  "  I  must 
go  to  Roger." 

"  And,  any  how, — if  Roger  were  to  marry,  and  yet  offer 
you  a  home, — ^you  would  go  to  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  must.     I  could  never  live  away  from  Roger." 

"  But  there  would  be  just  the  same  claim,  as  far  as  Mrs. 
Weir  is  concerned,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp. 
^  "  She  is  not  my  relation,"  I  observed. 

"  No ;  that  is  just  what  I  was  thinking.  She  is  not  a 
relation ;  she  is  a  claim  and  a  duty  when  you  like  it,  but  not 
when  you  don't  like  it." 

I  felt  the  colour  mount  to  my  cheeks. 

"  Then  you  would  never  have  one  put  friends  before  re- 
lations," I  exclaimed,  "  let  the  friends  be  never  so  kind,  and 
the  relations  never  so  cross  ?" 

"  I  would  try  to  take  life  as  God  has  made  it,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  And  go  to  Sandcombe?"  I  continued. 

"  Perhaps  not  just  yet.  I  think  it  is  all  very  true  that 
Mrs.  Weir  wants  a  little  comfort  now  ;  and  I  would  stay  and 
give  it  her  if  I  could,  for  a  certain  time  ;  may  be  a  month 
or  six  weeks,  or  any  time  you  choose,  till  she  is  settled  in  her 
new  home.  But,  Ursie,  if  you  will  take  my  advice,  you  will 
be  careful  not  to  put  yourself  too  forward  in  some  things. 
You  arc  not  Mrs.  Weir's  daughter." 

"  No,"  I  exclaimed,  and  I  laughed.  "  Fancy  if  she  or 
Miss  Milicent  were  to  hear  you  say  that ;  as  if  it  could  be 
possible.     Why  the  Weirs  arc  as  proud  as  princes." 

"  Pride  goes  to  the  wall  when  folks  are  in  need  of  com- 
fort," said  Mrs.  Kemp.     "  But,  putting  aside  that,  it  is  a 


152  U  E  S  U  L  A  . 

thing  I  have  learnt  from  a  good  many  years'  thought  and 
trouble,  that  to  take  other  persons'  duties  from  them  is  a 
course  which  never  has  God's  blessing  upon  it.  People  say 
— I  don't  ask  you,  for  it  is  wrong  to  pry — but  people  do  say 
that  Miss  Miliccnt  is  not  as  careful  of  her  mother  as  she 
might  be,  and  as  she  ought  to  be.  There  can't  be  a  worse 
sin  in  a  quiet  way  than  that,  Ursie ;  and  if  you  help  her  to 
continue  in  it,  why  you  will  share  the  guilt." 

This  was  quite  a  new  way  of  looking  at  the  case,  and  it 
touched  my  conscience  ;  forTE  knew  that  lately  Miss  Milicent 
had  left  oft"  doing  many  things  for  her  mother  which  at  one 
time  she  had  been  accustomed  to  attend  to. 

"  And  so  you  think  I  should  do  harm  by  staying,"  I  ex- 
claimed. 

"  It  is  just  this,"  continued  Mrs.  Kemp  ;  "  I  think  the 
question  for  us  to  consider  is  scarcely  ever  whether  we  shall 
do  harm  or  good  anywhere, — for  I  don't  believe  we  can 
judge  about  it ;  but  only  to  find  out  where  God  sends  us, 
and  then  go." 

"  Of  course  !  of  course  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  "Who  ever 
wants  anything  else  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  said,"  replied  Mrs.  Kemp,  "  that  most 
of  us  think  first  where  we  wish  to  go,  and  then  look  to  see 
if  God  hasn't  sent  us,  and  that  makes  all  the  difference. 
Mr.  Richardson  preached  a  sermon  about  Balaam  last  Sun- 
day, and  Farmer  and  I,  when  we  came  home,  both  said  we 
thought  we  had  been  Balaams  many  times  in  our  lives." 

"  And  I  am  like  Balaam  now,  then,"  I  said,  half-amused, 
yet  half-angry. 

Mrs.  Kemp  laughed  a  little  to,  as  she  answered,  "  Well  ! 
there  is  the  relation — a  very  near  one — a  brother,  willing  to 
have  you,  and  wishing  it ;  and  there  is  his  wife  left  withojit 
help  and  society,  and  likely  to  find  you  useful,  and  there  is 
lloger  looking  upon  Sandcombe  as  your  natural  home,  and 
leaving  you  under  William's  care.  It  was  not  you  who  or- 
dered these  things." 

''  Nor  I  who  ordered  Mrs.  Weir's  troubles,"  I  replied. 

"  No ;  but  God  made  you  William  Grant's  sister,  and 
Miss  Milicent  Mrs.  Weir's  daughter.  That  is  as  much  as 
to  say  one  is  to  help  one,  and  the  other  the  other." 


URSULA.  153 

"  And  I  am  to  take  Jessie's  place,  then,"  I  said.  "  I 
shall  not  do  much  for  myself  in  that  case." 

"  Oh,  Ursie  !  you  were  always  a  contrary  child,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Kemp,  in  a  vexed  tone.  "  Don't  you  see  that 
a  difficulty  about  that  would  alter  the  whole  case.  William 
and  Leah  must  understand.  If  they  won't  give  you  time 
to  work  for  yourself,  and  Mrs.  Weir  will,  why  that  settles 
the  question  at  once ;  not  because  of  your  liking  or  dis- 
liking, or  thinking  you  will  be  better  or  do  more  good  in 
one  place  than  another;  but  only  because  God  has  so  or- 
dered it,  that  it  is  needful  for  you  to  do  something  for  your- 
,  self,  that  you  mayn't  be  using  up  the  little  that  is  put  by 
for  a  rainy  day,  and  so  at  last  come  to  be  a  burden  on  your 
friends." 

I  knew  that  quite  as  well  as  Mrs.  Kemp ;  it  was  just 
Avhat  I  had  said  to  Leah,  but  somehow  it  did  not  come 
home  to  me  pleasantly.  I  would  so  much  rather  have  gone 
to  Mrs.  Weir  with  the  idea  of  helping  her  than  of  doing 
what  was  good  for  myself 

I  sat  still  for  some  seconds  and  thought ;  then  I  got  up 
and  said,  I  was  very  much  obliged  for  the  advice,  and  I 
would  think  about  it. 

"  Ah  !  Ursie,  lassie ;  you  are  not  inclined  to  see  the  mat- 
ter my  way,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kemp,  "  and  I  am  sure  I 
would  fain  see  it  yours  if  I  could ;  but  you  will  never  help 
Mrs.  Weir  if  you  begin  by  being  a  bone  of  contention  with 
your  own  relations." 

"  I  will  think  about  it  ;  I  dare  say  you  are  right.  Dear 
Mrs.  Kemp,  I  don't  mean  to  be  ungrateful,  but  I  am  very 
unhappy."  I  could  not  help  saying  it,  and  the  good  woman 
laid  her  hand  upon  mine  in  a  fondling  way,  and  said  she  was  so 
sorry ;  and  then  we  had  a  long  talk  about  Sandcombe,  and  the 
ways  of  going  on,  and  how  1  might  help  in  mending  matters 
if  I  went  there  ;  and  before  we  parted  I  felt  I  might  be  just 
as  useful  there  as  with  Mrs.  Weir,  and  was  heartily  glad  that 
the  point  was  to  be  settled  by  William  and  Leah,  and  not 
by  me. 

There  was  little  doubt  what  the  end  would  be  now ;  in 
fact,  the  next  day,  a  few  words  with  William,  who  came 
over  to  Dene  to  see  me,  decided  it.  I  could  do  fairly  well  with 
7* 


154  URSULA. 

him  alone,  and  he  was  kind  enough  in  his  way  of  putting 
things,  and  told  me  that  Leah  was  quite  willing  to  agree  to 
the  plan  of  my  having  time  to  myself  after  dinner,  if  I 
would  only  make  myself  useful  in  the  morning,  and  look  to 
the  dairy  and  poultry,  and  see  a  little  to  the  cooking.  I  had 
a  misgiving  that  I  should  be  put  upon  still,  and  I  asked  how 
Leah  was  going  to  manage  about  the  other  things  which 
Jessie  had  been  accustomed  to  attend  to  ;  but  I  found 
that  they  had  settled  to  have  help  from  a  girl  who  was  to 
come  every  now  and  then,  when  she  was  wanted ;  and,  as 
William  said,  Jessie  was  not  always  with  them,  and  so,  if  I 
was  there,  Leah  would  not  be  really  worse  off  than  before. 

He  looked  quite  pleased  when  everything  was  arranged, 
and  talked  so  much  about  Sandcombe  being  my  home,  and 
how  he  had  always  wanted  me  to  come,  that  before  he  went 
away  I  really  did  begin  to  think  he  had  been  very  good- 
natured  and  brotherly  about  it,  and  I  am  quite  sure  he  thought 
so  himself.  But  when  he  was  gone,  oh  dear !  Happily  I 
had  not  much  time  for  thought,  except  to  be  thankful  that, 
at  any  rate,  I  had  not  pleased  myself. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Mrs.  Weir's  new  house  was  not  exactly  in  Compton ;  it 
might  have  been  pleasanter  for  her  if  it  had  been.  She 
would  have  been  nearer  the  church  and  the  parsonage.  I 
don't  know  that  I  could  describe  the  situation  well  to  any 
one  acquainted  with  the  neighbourhood,  and  who  did  not  know 
the  kind  of  country  that  lay  on  the  other  side  of  St.  Anne's 
Hill,  between  it  and  the  sea.  But  supposing  a  person  was 
standing  on  the  top  of  St.  Anne's  facing  the  sea,  and  then 
was  to  go  down  the  hill  on  that  side,  he  would  come  to  the 
top  of  a  steep,  jagged  cliff,  broken  into  uneven  ledges,  bare 
and  sharp,  except  where  here  and  there  some  green  plant  had 
taken  root  in  the  crevices,  and  managed  to  grow  in  spite  of 
the  fury  of  the  south-west  winds,  which,  in  these  parts,  are 
the  fiercest  winds  that  blow. 

Before  coming  to  the  top  of  the  cliffs,  it  seems  that  there 


URSULA.  155 

is  nothing  between  them  and  the  sea,  but  on  reaching  the 
edge  there  is  a  sight  which  makes  a  stranger  start.  For 
below  lies,  not  the  sea,  but  a  broad  tract  of  land,  tossed  up 
and  down  in  little  hills  and  valleys.  It  is  scattered  all  over 
with  huge  rocks,  which  look  as  though  giants  had  thrown 
them  about  in  their  play,  and  it  slopes  down  in  a  steep  de- 
scent towards  the  top  of  a  second  range  of  cliffs.  This  range 
cannot,  of  course,  be  discovered  immediately  underneath  the 
upper  cliffs,  but  it  can  be  traced  towards  the  west  for  many 
miles,  forming  the  outline  of  Compton  Bay.  A  dreary-look- 
ing country  it  is,  but  it  has  a  charm  even  for  that  very 
reason.  As  a  child  I  only  saw  it  occasionally,  and  always 
thought  of  it  as  connected  with  haunts  of  smugglers,  and  wild 
storms ;  roaring  waves,  and  shipwrecks,  and  heavy  sea  mists, 
gathering  over  the  hills,  and  shutting  out  the  light  which 
was  the  only  hope  of  the  seaman's  safety.  It  must  have  been 
a  fierce  time  on  earth  when  the  land  sank  away  from  the  upper 
cliffs,  and  the  great  rocks  were  hurled  down,  and  the  streams, 
which  have  now  worked  their  way  through  the  lower  cliffs, 
and  formed  deep  chasms,  first  began  to  flow.  But  those  days 
are  not  within  the  memory  of  man  that  I  ever  heard.  Yet 
even  now  it  is  solemn  to  stand  and  think  of  what  once  has 
been.  When  I  first  remember  that  part  of  the  country  it 
was,  so  to  say,  unknown  and  untraversed.  There  was  no 
road  through  it.  Persons  wishing  to  go  from  Hatton  to 
Compton  had  to  go  up  Hatton  lane,  and  over  the  hill ;  only 
foot-passengers  went  over  the  cliffs,  and  with  them  it  was  a 
difiicult  task  to  find  their  way,  especially  on  a  dark  night. 
They  might  stumble  among  the  rocks,  or  wander  to  the  edge 
of  the  cliffs,  and  be  over  before  they  were  aware  of  it.  Some 
people,  at  that  time,  thought  it  an  unsafe  country  to  live  in, 
and  said  that  the  rocks  would  fall  again ;  but  there  was  little 
enough  really  to  fear,  though  certainly  things  did  seem  ter- 
rible to  those  who  were  unaccustomed  to  them. 

Perhaps  the  country  looks  all  the  more  wild  from  the 
contrast  with  that  which  immediately  adjoins  it.  For  to 
the  east  of  St.  Anne's  Hill,  just  beyond  Hatton,  the  land 
turns  towards  the  south,  and  the  warm  sun  shines  full  upon 
it.  The  ground  is  tossed  about  still  in  every  direction,  and 
huge  rocks  lie  scattered  upon  it.  But  thorns,  and  chestnuts,  and 


156  U  B  S  U  L  A  . 

ash  trees  have  sprung  up  amongst  them  upon  the  greensward , 
ivy  has  climbed  up  the  ledges  of  the  jagged  clifl's  ;  primroses 
cluster  vxpon  the  banks ;  cowslips  glitter  on  the  turf ;  and 
masses  of  hyacinths  may  be  seen  in  glades,  half  hidden  by 
the  foliage  of  the  thick  ti-ees,  and  through  which  the  jutting 
masses  of  grey  rock  peep  out  upon  the  open  sea,  sparkling 
with  silver  and  blue,  some  hundreds  of  feet  beneath  them, 

A  lovely  scene  it  is.  There  is  a  verse  spoken  of  a  very 
different  country,  which  often  comes  to  my  mind  when  I 
think  of  it.  "  It  is  a  land  which  the  Lord  thy  God  careth 
for.  The  Eyes  of  the  Lord  thy  God  are  always  upon  it, 
from  the  beginning  of  the  year  even  unto  the  end  of  the 
year."  Sometimes  it  has  even  seemed  to  me  that  Heaven 
itself  can  scarcely  be  more  beautiful.  But  that  is,  doubtless, 
the  thought  of  my  ignorance,  and  the  love  which  I  bear  to 
all  things  connected  with  the  memories  of  my  youth. 

But  I  must  go  back  to  Compton  and  Mrs.  Weir.  I 
have  said  that  in  former  days  there  was  no  direct  road  from 
Ilatton  to  Compton  ;  a  few  years,  however,  before  the  time 
of  which  I  am  writing,  it  had  been  determined  to  make  one 
under  the  upper  cliff,  at  a  great  expense,  and,  as  some  per- 
sons thought,  uselessly.  That,  however,  was  soon  proved  to 
be  a  mistake.  Some  speculating  people  bought  up  part  of 
the  land,  and  built  an  hotel  and  lodging-houses  upon  it,  and 
Compton  Heath,  as  the  place  was  called,  was  like  to  become, 
in  time,  an  inhabited  part  of  the  world.  It  signified  little 
enough  to  Mrs.  Weir  where  she  went,  for  she  was  not  likely 
to  move  out  of  the  house  often,  when  once  she  was  settled  in 
it;  yet  I  could  not  help  wishing  that  she  had  something 
more  quiet  and  homelike  to  look  out  upon  than  that  broad 
sea,  without  a  ship  to  be  seen  upon  it,  and  the  bare  rocks 
upon  the  heath.  There  was,  indeed,  a  beautiful  view  of  the 
white  cliffs  in  the  distance ;  but  evei-ything  immediately 
about  the  place,  though  grand,  was  desolate ;  except,  indeed, 
the  garden ;  but  even  that  was  new,  and  not  likely  to  be 
kept  in  very  good  order  by  the  old  man  who  was  in  charge 
of  it.  He  and  his  wife  had  the  care  of  the  place  before  Mrs. 
Weir  took  it,  and  they  were  to  live  there  still,  and  the 
woman  was  to  do  the  cooking,  and  the  man  the  gardening. 
Miss  Milicent  and  I  went  many  times  backwards  and  for- 


URSULA.  157 

wards  over  the  hill,  from  Deue  to  the  Heath,  before  we  had 
made  the  place  at  all  what  we  thought  Mrs.  Weir  would 
think  comfortable.  Mrs.  Richardson  helped  us  as  well  as 
she  could  :  but  she  was  busy  in  the  parish  with  the  poor  peo- 
ple, and  at  home  with  her  children,  and  had  but  little  time 
to  spare ;  and,  indeed,  it  would  have  been  unfair  to  expect 
her  to  do  much.  I  found  the  neighbours  very  kind ;  the 
people  at  the  hotel  lent  us  a  helping  hand,  and  the  Lieuten- 
ant, at  the  Preventive  Station,  and  his  wife,  took  an  interest 
in  our  goings  on.  I  don't  know  how  Miss  Milicent  became 
acquainted  with  them,  but  somehow  she  managed  to  know 
every  one  ;  and  I  was  rather  glad  to  think  that  when  she  and 
her  mother  were  settled  in  that  out-of-the-way  place,  they 
would  have  a  man  friend  near  to  apply  to  in  a  difficulty. 

I  had  never  yet  told  Mrs.  Weir  exactly  what  my  plans 
were,  but  I  had  given  her  to  understand  that  I  could  not  live 
with  her  for  a  continuance,  and  she  took  the  notion  more 
quietly  than  I  had  expected.  As  she  said,  she  never  looked 
forward,  and  I  was  with  her  for  the  time,  and  that  was 
enough.  But  Miss  Milicent  was  different.  I  had  a  strug- 
gle with  her  especially,  the  day  before  all  was  arranged  for 
the  move.  I  was  to  go  over  to  the  Heath  in  the  afternoon, 
and  she  and  her  mother  were  to  follow  the  next  morning. 
First  of  all  I  had  thought  that  it  would  be  better  to  stay  and 
help  the  poor  lady  to  the  last  at  Dene ;  but  Mrs.  Kemp's 
hint  was  remembered,  though  I  did  not  like  it  when  it  was 
given.  Cotton,  the  lady's  maid,  was  going  to  stay,  so  that 
Mrs.  Weir  would  have  all  the  help  in  the  way  of  dressing 
and  nursing  that  she  usually  had  ;  and  no  doubt  it  was  Miss 
Miliccnt's  duty  to  look  after  her  mother  herself.  She 
managed  it  in  a  certain  way  before  I  was  even  known  to  them, 
and  so  she  ought  to  be  able  to  manage  it  still.  I  said  as 
much  as  this  to  her,  only  I  hope  civilly,  when  she  suggested 
that  it  would  be  better  for  her  to  go  and  sleep  at  the  Parson- 
age that  night,  and  walk  up  to  tlie  Heath  early  the  next 
morning,  and  get  everything  ready  by  the  time  her  mother 
and  I  came  in  the  aftcrnoou. 

"  Mrs.  Weir  is  used  to  you  in  moving  from  home,  Miss 
Milicent,"  I  said,  "  and  she  is  not  used  to  me ;  maybe  she 
would  rather  have  you." 


158  UKSULA. 

"  Now,  Ursie  Grant,  3^011  know  that  is  not  true,"  she 
answered  ;  "  whatever  I  am  good  for,  it  is  not  nursing,  and  I 
don't  want  to  put  myself  forward  in  it." 

"  This  is  not  quite  nursing,"  I  replied,  "  and  anyhow, 
Miss  Milicent,  as  Mrs.  Weir  has  nobody  but  you  to  look  to 
for  the  future,  it  won't  do  to  be  out  of  the  habit  of  helping 
her." 

"  I  am  so  busy,"  she  said  ;  "  I  told  Mr.  Perry  (that  was 
the  preventive  lieutenant),  that  I  should  be  over  at  the 
Heath  the  first  thing  to-morrow  morning,  and  bring  Wil- 
liams, the  carpenter,  with  me,  and  then  we  would  see  about 
putting  up  some  shelves,  and  unpacking  the  books." 

"  I  can  take  a  message  to  Mr.  Perry,  if  it  is  needful,"  I 
said ;  "  and  I  thought  of  sleeping  in  the  house,  and  so  I 
should  be  there  to  see  about  getting  coffee  when  Mrs.  Weir 
arrived.     I  think  I  could  show  Jenny  Dale  how  she  likes  it." 

"  That  old  Jenny  won't  be  able  to  make  coffee  or  any- 
thing else  to  suit  my  mother's  whimsies,"  exclaimed  Miss 
Milicent :  "  she  is  as  particular  as  a  Queen,  as  you  know  well 
enough,  Ursie." 

"I  could  try  and  teach  Jenny,"  I  said;  "and  if  not. 
Miss  Milicent,  you  will  be  there  the  next  day,  and  then  I 
might  show  you." 

"  And  why  can't  you  do  it  yourself,  Ursie  ?  you  are  not 
used  to  be  so  cross-grained."  And  Miss  Milicent  turned 
round  upon  mc  sharply,  with  a  look  as  of  twenty  eyes  put 
into  one. 

"If  it  was  so  ordered  that  I  could  wait  upon  Mrs.  Weir 
always,  it  would  be  different,"  I  replied,  "  but  as  I  must 
needs  leave  her  before  very  long,  Miss  Milicent,  it  would  be 
better  and  kinder  surely  to  put  some  one  else  in  the  way  of 
pleasing  her;  and  if  Jenny  Dale  can't  make  the  coffee  and 
you  don't  like  to  learn  yourself,  Cotton  might  try." 

"  I  tell  you  what,Ursie,"  exclaimed  Miss  Milicent  angrily, 
"  I  don't  take  it  kind  of  you  to  make  all  this  fuss  about  going 
away  just  at  the  very  time  we  have  most  need  of  you;  it  is 
not  what  I  should  have  expected  of  you,  having  known  you 
so  many  years,  and  always  being  friends  up  to  this  time.  It 
is  very  hard,  very  hard  indeed." 

"  It  is  not  my  wish,  Miss  Milicent,"  I  replied,  trying  to 


URSULA.  159 

speak  gently,  though  I  must  confess  her  tone  irritated  me, 
"but  I  have  taken  the  advice  of  friends.  One  thing  T  can 
promise,  if  you  will  allow  it — not  to  leave  Mrs.  Weir  till  she 
is  really  settled  comfortably  at  the  Heath,  and  able  to  go  on 
by  herself." 

"  And  that  will  be  never,"  exclaimed  Miss  Milicent.  "  Don't 
you  see  that  my  mother  is  getting  more  full  of  whims  and 
nervousness  every  day  ?  And  what  am  I  to  do  with  her? 
She  never  did  attend  to  me." 

"  Perhaps  because  you  never  fell  into  her  ways,"  I  ven- 
tured to  say. 

"  You  speak  ignorantly,  Ursie  Grant,"  replied  Miss  Mili- 
cent, more  quietly.  "  You  have  never  known  my  mother  as  I 
have.  Her  ways,  as  you  call  them,  have  been  for  years  ways 
which  no  one  with  a  grain  of  sense  could  fall  into,  and  they 
would  have  been  twenty  times  worse  but  for  me.  Other 
people  " — Miss  Milicent  stopped,  I  don't  think  she  liked  to 
mention  her  father's  name — "  other  people  scolded  her  one 
minute  and  humoured  her  the  next;  that  did  no  good." 

"It  might  have  been  better,"  I  said,  "to  humour  her  in 
the  things  that  were  rational,  and  try  to  persuade  her  out 
of  those  which  were  not." 

She  waited  before  answering,  and  the  colour  rose  in  her 
cheeks;  then  she  said,  "  You  are  right  there,  Ursie.  But 
persons  who  humour  and  persuade  must  be  made  of  different 
stuiF  from  me.  I  can't,  and  that  is  the  truth,  and  so  I  must 
e'en  go  my  way,  and  my  mother  must  go  hers ;  and  things 
must  be  managed  as  they  can ;  though  how  that  is  to  be  when 
you  leave  us  is  more  than  I  can  say." 

I  felt  for  her.  There  was  something  about  her  which 
always  touched  me,  when  she  changed  from  that  sharp,  head- 
strong manner,  to  be  in  any  way  true  and  humble.  It  was  a 
glimpse  of  a  beautiful,  better  nature,  lying,  as  it  were,  at  the 
bottom  of  a  deep  sea  tossed  with  tempests.  And  I  knew  too 
that  she  must  have  had  a  great  deal  to  bear  all  her  life  long. 
Persons  out  of  the  family  could  put  up  with  JMrs.  Weir's 
oddities  easily  enough,  but  it  was  not  so  with  those  whose 
daily  life  was  troubled  by  them.  The  whims  of  friends  are 
an  amusement ;  those  of  relations  are  trials.  Only  one  thing 
I  saw  then,  that  Miss  Milicent  deceived  herself  by  saying 


IGO  URSULA. 

"  can't "  and  "  must."  I  believe  there  are  not  two  more 
treacherous  words  in  the  English  language.  I  did  not  say  I 
would  stay,  though  it  was  a  strong  temptation ;  but  I  repeat- 
ed again  that  I  was  very  sorry  for  her,  and  that  I  would  take 
care  not  to  leave  her  till  Mrs.  Weir  was  comfortable.  I 
added  though,  that  she  must  please  let  me  go  over  to  the 
Heath,  for  the  work  to  be  done  there  was  much  more  fitting 
for  me  than  for  her. 

She  gave  in,  I  do  believe,  because  she  was  taken  by  sur- 
prise to  find  a  will  stronger  than  her  own ;  and  about  sis 
o'clock  that  evening  I  took  my  bundle  under  my  arm,  and  left 
Dene  never  again  to  return  to  it  as  my  home. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  clouds  were  gathering  and  the  wind  was  rising  as  I 
crossed  the  down  at  the  foot  of  St.  Anne's  Hill.  I  thought 
we  should  have  a  stormy  night,  indeed  I  was  very  certain  of 
it,  for  there  was  the  noise  of  a  ground-swell  telling  me  more 
plainly  than  words.  I  walked  on  quickly,  not  exactly  dis- 
liking the  work  before  me,  though  feeling  how  strange  it  all 
was.  I  should  have  been  miserable  if  I  had  gone  direct 
from  Dene  to  Sandcombe,  but  this  go-between  life  softened 
matters,  and  there  was  something  in  the  notion  of  being  left 
to  settle  and  decide  things  for  myself  and  for  others  too,  and 
in  a  certain  fashion  make  my  own  way  in  the  world,  which 
gave  me  energy.  As  for  Dene,  the  spirit  of  the  place  had 
departed  when  Roger  left  it.  I  loved  the  old  familiar  scenes 
dearly — it  would  be  hard  to  say  how  dearly — but  after  he 
was  gone  I  looked  on  them  as  upon  the  face  of  a  friend  who 
is  dead.  I  knew  I  had  better  leave  them,  and  remember 
them  only  as  they  were  in  the  days  of  my  peaceful  happi- 
ness ;  and  I  thanked  God  from  my  heart  for  the  blessings 
He  had  granted  me  whilst  living  amongst  them. 

I  made  my  way  down  a  rough  bank  at  the  foot  of  the 
down,  and  then  along  a  field  into  the  high  road,  and  so  up  to 
Heath  Cottage,  that  was  the  name  of  Mrs.  Weir's  new  house. 
I  mention  the  path  I  took,  because  it  gives  me  an  opportunity 


URSULA.  161 

of  saying  ■what  I  did  not  before,  that  the  high,  broken,  vipper 
cliffs  ended  just  above  the  cottage  ;  they  seemed  to  break  off 
by  degrees  and  lose  themselves  in  the  slope  of  the  down,  so 
that  the  way  I  came  was  easy  enough  for  a  young  person, 
though  the  descent  from  the  down  was  very  steep. 

I  thought,  as  I  entered  the  garden,  that  the  place  was 
not  half  so  trim  as  the  grounds  at  Dene.  The  little  bit  of 
road  and  the  sweep  were  full  of  rough  stones,  and  the  grass 
on  the  banks  wanted  mowing.  I  determined  that  should  be 
done  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  Mrs.  Weir's  neat  eye 
would  never  bear  the  look  of  the  place  as  it  was,  though  Miss 
Milicent  would  have  lived  there  for  years  and  never  have 
thought  about  it.  I  saw  no  one  at  work  about  the  garden, 
and  when  I  went  up  to  the  house,  and  rang  the  bell,  ] 
waited  a  most  provokingly  long  time  for  an  answer.  At 
length  a  little  girl  appeared,  Jenny  Dale's  grandchild,  who  I 
knew  was  often  with  her.  She  stared  at  me  with  a  pair  of 
very  blue  eyes,  and  opened  her  mouth,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Well,  Polly  !  how  d  ye  do  ?  "  I  said.  "  Where's  Gran 
ny.     Can't  I  come  in  ?  " 

"  Granny's  bad,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Bad  !  I'm  sorry  for  that.     I  must  go  and  speak  to  licr. 
Where  is  she  ?  " 
"  She's  a-bed." 

"So  ill  as  that  ?     How  long  has  she  been  there  ?  " 
"  Yesterday,  and  t'other  day." 

"  13ui  I  saw  her  the  day  before  yesterday,"  I  said;  "  she 
didn't  seem  ill  then.     Has  the  doctor  been  here  V  " 

"  I  don't  know,  she's  a-bed ;  "  was  the  only  reply  1  could 
obtain ;  so  I  asked  no  more  questions,  but  went  in. 

Jenny  Dale  was  neat  in  her  way,  and  her  kitchen  was 
comfortable  enough  generally — but  Polly  being  left  to  play 
there,  had  made  it  very  untidy.  The  fire  was  burning  low, 
and  the  tea-kettle  had  been  taken  off  it,  and  was  standing 
within  the  fender.  A  little  deal  table,  with  some  crusts  of 
bread  soaked  in  spilt  tea,  and  some  cups  waiting  to  be 
washed,  were  the  signs  that  Dale  and  his  grandchild  had  been 
having  their  meal  together;  but  grandfather,  I  was  told, 
was  gone  out,  and  Polly  didn't  know  where  he  was  gone,  or 
when  he  meant  to  return, — in  fact  she  didn't  know  anything, 
except  that  Granny  was  a-bed. 


162  URSULA. 

'  And  where  is  Granny  sleeping  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Up  yon  !  "  and  Polly  pointed  to  a  comer  of  the  kitch- 
en, where  I  saw  nothing  but  the  dish-covers  upon  the 
dresser. 

There  was  a  little  room  over  one  of  the  out-houses,  as  I 
knew,  so  I  guessed  what  was  meant ;  and  putting  some  coals 
on  the  fire,  I  told  Polly  to  wash  up  the  tea-things,  and  make 
the  place  tidy;  and  up-stairs  I  went. 

I  heard  a  low  groaning  before  I  reached  the  top  of  the 
steep  little  staircase,  and  when  I  entered  the  bedroom,  I  had 
no  need  to  be  told  that  "  G-ranny  was  very  bad."  She  was 
lyicg  on  a  mattress  on  the  floor,  turning  and  rolling  from 
side  to  side,  with  an  attack  of  feverish  cold  and  rheuma- 
tism. The  wind,  which  was  beginning  to  howl  every 
minute  louder  and  louder,  poured  down  in  gusts  from  the 
little  fire-place,  close  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  so  that  she  had 
the  full  benefit  of  it.  The  room  itself  was  draughty  enough 
for  a  person  in  health  ;  there  was  but  one  window,  but  that 
shook  as  if  all  the  panes  had  been  fastened  together  by  pack- 
thread ;  and  the  door  would  not  shut  close  ;  and  all  day  long, 
and  all  night,  too — as  I  found  afterwards — there  was  the 
moan  of  the  wind  through  that  and  the  window,  even  on  a 
quiet  day, — so  any  one  may  guess  what  it  was  likely  to  be 
on  a  stormy  one.  No  doubt  there  are  many  worse  places  in 
which  people  sleep  comfortably  enough ;  but  I  confess  it  did 
provoke  me  that  no  one  should  have  had  the  sense  to  move 
the  bed  a  few  inches  to  the  left,  where  it  might  have  been 
out  of  the  way  of  the  draught ;  and  this  was  the  first  thing 
I  tried  to  do.  But  Jenny  was  in  no  condition  to  bear  being 
disturbed  even  for  her  own  comfort.  She  was  very  bad,  she 
said ;  she  didn't  know  but  what  she  was  a-going  to  die. 
Daddy  (as  she  called  her  husband)  was  gone  for  the  doctor, 
and  she  hadn't  no  one  but  the  little  maid  to  wait  upon  her ; 
— but  for  all  I  could  say,  she  would  not  have  anything,  or 
do  anything,  or  allow  anything  to  be  done  for  her.  She 
would  lie  there  with  wind  enough  to  turn  a  mill  rushing  upon 
her  down  the  chimney.  When  I  tried  to  pull  the  mattress 
along  myself,  she  cried  out  as  though  I  was  going  to  cut  ofi"  one 
of  her  legs ;  so  at  last  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  insist  upon 
pinning  a  shawl  across  the  fire-place  to  shut  out  the  draught, 
and  leave  her  till  the  doctor  came. 


URSULA.  163 

A  comfortable  beginning,  and  a  pleasant  prospect  for 
Mrs.  Weir  the  next  day  !  But  there  was  all  the  more  rea- 
son for  exertion ;  and  as  soon  as  I  had  made  up  the  kitchen 
fire,  and  put  the  tea-kettle  on,  that  I  might  have  a  little  tea 
instead  of  supper,  for  I  knew  it  would  be  more  comforting, 
I  went  over  the  house  to  see  whai  kind  of  state  things  were 
in.  The  drawing-room  was  habitable  enough.  It  was  a 
pretty  little  room  with  a  deep,  square  window,  commanding 
a  lovely  view  of  the  bay  and  the  whole  cliff.  In  shape  it 
was  not  so  very  unlike  the  drawing-room  at  Dene  ;  and  when 
the  furniture  was  arranged  properly,  I  thought  Mrs.  Weir 
might  rather  take  to  it.  But  the  dining-room  was  dark,  and 
filled  with  boxes  and  rubbish  ;  and  in  the  passages,  and  up 
the  stairs,  litter  of  all  kinds  was  lying  about, — ^just  the  kind 
of  litter  which  it  was  impossible  to  know  what  to  do  with. 
I  hope  I  was  not  hard  upon  Miss  Milicent,  but  I  could  not 
help  thinking  that  it  was  because  the  last  two  or  three  times 
when^  furniture  and  books  had  been  sent  over  from  Dene, 
Miss  Milicent  had  undertaken  to  see  the  boxes  unpacked  at 
the  cottage,  and  had  taken  things  out  and  thrown  them  down 
anywhere,  instead  of  arranging  them  as  she  went  on. 

Up-stairs,  Mrs.  Weir's  bed-room  was  what  I  should  have 
called  pretty  and  neat;  but  she  would  doubtless  see  fifty 
things  that  were  wanted.  It  was  a  good  size,  which  was  the 
most  important  point  in  my  eyes,  and  had  a  cheerful  look- 
out towards  the  south-east,  and  a  square  window  like  the 
drawing-room.  There  was  a  dressing-room  to  it,  besides  an- 
other good-sized  room  for  Miss  Milicent,  over  the  dining- 
room  ;  and  a  little  room  which  I  was  to  have,  and  two  attics. 

I  took  off  my  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  then  I  went  down- 
stairs, and  called  Polly  to  come  and  help  me  clear  some  of 
the  rubbish  from  the  passage  and  the  stairs.  But  it  was 
growing  dark,  and  we  had  scarcely  begun  our  task,  when 
Dale  came  back  from  Compton  with  the  Doctor,  who  looked 
grave  about  Jenny,  and  said  she  must  be  well  looked  after, 
and  he  would  send  her  some  medicine,  and  come  and  see  her 
again  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  I  could  not  leave  her 
without  Polly  after  that,  so  I  sent  the  child  to  sit  with  her, 
and  went  on  with  my  work  by  myself. 

I  was  standing  a  minute  to  rest  myself,  and  looking  out 


164  URSULA. 

of  the  dra'wing-room  window,  trying  to  make  out  what  it  was 
impossible  to  see  because  of  the  darkness  that  was  coming, 
when  I  fancied  I  heard  the  front  door  bell  ring.  I  listened, 
but  not  hearing  it  again,  I  thought  it  must  have  been  my 
mistake  ;  presently,  however,  I  caught  the  sound  of  footsteps, 
and  going  out  into  the  passage,  I  saw  two  persons  there,  a 
little  gentleman  and  a  stout  lady,  strangers. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Weir  at  home  ?  "  said  the  gentleman  in  a  meek 
voice. 

"  You  had  better  ask  for  your  cousin,  my  dear,"  said  the 
lady.  "  We  want  to  see  Miss  Weir,"  she  added,  not  wait- 
ing for  him  to  answer.  "  This  is  Mr.  Temple,  and  I  am 
Mrs.  Temple,  and  we  are  just  come.  You  had  better  go  at 
once  and  announce  us ;  now,  my  dear,"  and  she  walked  past 
him  to  go  forward  to  the  drawing-room.  The  gentle- 
man followed. 

"  Mrs.  Weir  is  not  here,  Ma'am,"  I  said  as  soon  as  the 
opportunity  for  speaking  was  given  me. 

"  Not  here  !  "  she  stopped  short ;  "  very  provoking ! 
You  should  not  have  brought  me,  my  dear,"  she  added,  ad- 
dressing her  husband.  "  You  should  have  come  first  to  in- 
quire. I  told  you  there  was  just  the  chance  of  not  finding 
them.     I  am  quite  exhausted." 

The  lady  threw  herself  down  in  the  arm-chair,  her  floun- 
ces spreading  out,  so  as  to  make  her  three  times  the  size  she 
was  naturally.  To  judge  by  her  brilliant  complexion,  high 
colom-,  and  clear  sparkling  eyes,  she  was  not  likely  to  be 
overcome  by  fatigue,  but  appearances  are  deceitful.  The 
gentleman,  who  had  been  gifted  by  nature  with  a  very  meek 
countenance,  which  he  had  vainly  endeavoured  to  render 
fierce  by  the  help  of  a  sandy  moustache,  stood  by  her  sub- 
missively. She  handed  him  a  little  bag,  which  she  carried 
in  her  hand,  and  he  took  out  a  scent-bottle,  and  gave  it  her, 
though  I  don't  believe  he  thought  she  was  going  to  faint  any 
more  than  I  did. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  there  has  been  any  mistake.  Sir,"  I 
said,  "  but  Mrs.  Weir  is  not  expected  till  to-morrow.  I  am 
just  come  over  myself  to  put  things  in  order  for  her." 

"  We  can  have  beds  here,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  the  lady. 

"  I  am  afraid,   Ma'am,"  1  replied,  a  little  surprised  I 


URSULA.  165 

must  confess  at  such  a  bold  request,  "  it  could  not  be  witb- 
out  Mrs.  Weir's  knowledge." 

"  I  thought  that  being  Mrs.  Weir's  relations,  there 
might  have  been  some  accommodation  for  us,"  said  the 
gentleman. 

"  And  Mrs.  Weir  would  wish  it,  I  am  sure,"  replied  the 
lady  ;  "  in  fact  we  quite  reckoned  upon  it."  She  spoke  an- 
grily, and  was  evidently  not  at  all  inclined  to  faint  now. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  could  not  take  it 
upon  myself,  without  Mrs.  Weir's  permission ;  and  indeed 
there  is  no  room  properly  ready,  except  just  where  I  am  to 
sleep  myself.  Mrs.  Weir  had  no  notion  you  were  coming, 
Sir." 

"  It  was  a  sudden  thought,"  replied  the  Captain, 
"  but " 

"  Young  woman,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Temple,  ''you  will 
be  sorry  for  being  uncivil  to  us ;  your  mistress  will  be  much 
displeased  when  she  hears  of  it.  I  am  Mrs.  AVeir's  favourite 
niece.  This  gentleman  is  come  to  transact  most  important 
business  with  her,  and  he  is  not  accustomed  to  disrespect,  he 
never  puts  up  with  it.  You  had  better  at  once  go  and  pre- 
pare the  rooms,  and  get  us  some  tea,  for  we  have  had  a  very 
long  journey.  This  is  a  most  out-of-the-way  place  ;  I  won- 
der how  any  one  can  think  of  living  in  it,"  she  added,  speak- 
ing to  her  husband. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  could  not  get  tea  to  suit  you.  Ma'am,"  I 
replied.  "  I  don't  know  what  there  is  in  the  house,  and  you 
will  find  everything  vei'y  comfortable  at  the  hotel,  if  you 
will  please  to  go  there  to-night ;  and  no  doubt  Mrs.  Weir 
and  Miss  Milicent  will  make  everything  easy  to-morrow." 

"  My  dear — what  do  you — what  do  you  think  ?  "  said 
the  Captain. 

"  That  I  shall  stay  where  I  am,"  she  replied.  "  The 
hotel  is  not  to  be  put  up  with,  it  is  too  full.  That  room  we 
were  shown  into  was  a  mere  hole." 

"  You  will  be  much  better  off  there  than  here.  Ma'am," 
I  answered.  "  There  is  no  one  to  wait  upon  you  here  but 
myself" 

"  And  I  suppose  you  know  how  to  wait,"  she  answered. 

"  Not  very  well.  Ma'am.     I  am  not  Mrs.  Weir's  servant. 


166  URSULA. 

I  only  came  over  for  a  time  to  help  arrange  tilings  for  her, 
and  I  have  much  to  do  to-night ;  I  don't  think  I  could  possi- 
bly undertake  it." 

"  Extremely  uncivil !  "  exclaimed  the  lady.  "  I  shall 
go  up  stairs  and  judge  of  the  state  of  the  house  for 
myself." 

"  If  you  please,  Ma'am,"  I  replied,  but  I  did  not  offer 
to  show  her  the  way ;  I  was  quite  confounded  by  her 
coolness. 

"  My  dear," — she  beckoned  to  her  husband  to  follow, 
and  he  went  after  her  quite  tamely.  I  heard  her  stumble 
over  a  box  at  the  doorway,  and  hard  work  I  knew  they 
would  have  to  make  their  way  up-stairs,  such  a  number  of 
things  were  lying  about ;  but  it  was  all  so  much  the  better 
for  me,  for  it  gave  me  time  to  think,  and  whilst  they  were 
gone  I  sat  down  to  consider  what  was  to  come  next.  A  very 
odd  business,  certainly,  it  was. 

Mrs.  Temple's  name  I  had  heard  often  enough,  but  I  had 
never  understood  that  there  was  much  kindness  between  her 
and  Mrs.  Weir,  at  least  since  her  marriage,  when  there  had 
been  differences  about  money  matters.  What  business  she 
had  to  come  troubling  for  Mrs.  Weir  just  at  this  time  was 
more  than  I  could  guess.  Of  course  I  was  unwilling  to  do 
anything  disagreeable,  but  as  to  their  sleeping  in  the  house 
that  night  it  was  out  of  the  question.  Mrs.  Temple  was 
so  long  away  that  it  is  my  belief  she  must  have  gone  uj)  to 
the  attics,  but  down-stairs  she  came  at  last. 

"  The  room  over  this  will  do  very  well ;  you  can  make  up 
the  bed,  and  we  shall  not  expect  to  have  everything  perfect. 
The  dressing-room  will  be  large  enough  for  Mr.  Temple 
when  you  have  moved  out  the  boxes." 

"  I  could  not  well  put  you  into  Mrs.  Weir's  room, 
Ma'am,  I  replied ;  "  it  is  kept  for  her;  and  the  boxes,  I  fear, 
are  too  heavy  to  be  moved.  I  am  sorry  to  be  unaccommodat- 
ing, but  if  you  will  please  to  go  to  the  hotel  to-night,  Mrs. 
Weir  will  be  here  to  make  her  own  arrangements  to-morrow. 
I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  my  leaving  you  now,  as  I  have 
work  to  do." 

When  I  had  said  this,  I  walked,  out  of  the  room,  for  I 
was  not  going  to  discuss  the  point  with  her  any  further. 


URSULA.  167 

I  heard  them  talking  to  each  other,  the  lady's  voice  be- 
coming louder  and  louder,  as  she  seemed  to  be  trying  to 
convince  her  husband  of  something  against  his  will ;  I  did 
not  go  near  them,  however,  but  went  up  to  see  Jenny  and 
give  her  her  medicine,  and  then,  as  she  seemed  better,  Polly 
and  I  set  to  work  again  by  candlelight  to  clear  away  the 
rubbish.  At  last,  when  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had 
gone  by,  Polly  saw  them  go  down  the  passage  and  out  of  the 
house-door,  and  so  we  were  rid  of  them. 

I  can't  say  I  was  comfortable ;  I  did  not  know  how  I 
could  have  done  diiferently,  but  I  had  been  quite  put  out  of 
my  usual  way.  Ever  since  I  could  remember,  I  had  been 
taught  to  treat  persons  according  to  their  station,  and  though 
I  was  proud  and  wilful,  yet  I  had  a  natural  feeling  of  respect 
for  pei-sons  better  born  and  educated  than  myself.  Even 
when  Miss  Milicent  provoked  me  to  speak  out  as  she  some- 
times did,  it  was  more  that  I  caught  something  of  her  off- 
hand tone  before  I  was  aware  of  it,  than  that  I  had  the 
slightest  intention  of  being  uncivil ;  but  Mrs.  Temple  made 
something  rise  up  in  my  heart  quite  unlike  any  other  feeling. 
It  was  not  for  myself  I  really  think.  She  did  not  know  wlio 
I  was,  and  if  I  had  tried  to  make  her  understand,  I  dou't 
suppose  I  should  have  succeeded.  But,  besides  the  incon- 
venience of  her  request,  she  had  claimed  as  a  right  what  only 
ought  to  have  been  asked  as  a  favour,  and  this  was  what  I 
had  never  been  accustomed  to.  Mrs.  Weir  used  to  say  to 
me  sometimes  in  former  days,  "  Never  take  a  liberty  with 
any  person,  Ursula,  and  never  let  any  one  take  a  liberty  with 
you  ;  and  then  you  will  know  how  to  behave  in  every  position 
in  which  it  may  please  God  to  place  you."  I  am  sure  she 
acted  upon  the  advice  herself,  for  all  the  time  I  was  with 
her  she  never  forgot  that  I  had  my  own  claims  to  respect 
and  consideration,  in  spite  of  my  inferior  position. 

Polly  began  asking  questions  about  the  visitors,  and 
would  have  run  out  into  the  road  after  them,  to  look  at  them, 
if  I  would  have  allowed  her ;  but  I  stopped  her  directly,  and 
told  her  nothing.  We  worked  on  till  nearly  nine  o'clock, 
and  then  I  thought  it  was  time  to  send  her  to  bed.  Dale 
had  had  his  supper,  and  was  gone  up-stairs ;  so  I  had  the 
kitchen  to  myself,  and  I  stirred  up  the  fire,  wliich  had  been 


168  URSULA. 

let  down  again  very  low,  and  sat  down,  listening  to  the 
howling  of  the  wind,  and  the  dash  of  the  waves  upon  the 
shore  ;  and  thinking  how  much  I  should  have  to  tell  Roger 
when  we  mot  again.  As  a  pleasant  end  to  the  evening,  there 
was  no  milk  in  the  house,  and  no  butter — so  my  hope  of  a 
warm,  comforting  tea  came  to  nothing ;  but  I  contented  my- 
self with  some  bread  and  cheese,  and  a  glass  of  beer,  and 
after  seeing  that  Jenny  had  everything  she  wanted,  I  went  to 
bed,  and  being  quite  tired  out,  soon  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

My  new  acquaintances  did  not  intrude  upon  me  the  nest 
morning.  I  suppose  they  had  had  enough  of  me.  Polly 
said  she  saw  them  going  down  the  cliffs  to  the  sea,  but  that 
was  all  I  heard  of  them,  and  nearly  all  I  thought  about 
them,  for  there  was  business  enough  to  take  up  every  moment. 
Work  as  hard  as  I,  and  Dale,  and  Polly,  and  Williams  the 
carpenter,  and  a  girl  from  the  village  could,  it  seemed  as 
though  the  house  never  would  be  straight  by  the  time  Mrs, 
Weir  arrived.  I  was  most  anxious  that  it  should  be,  for  she 
was  one  of  those  persons  with  whom  first  impressions  are 
everything ;  and  if,  on  coming  to  the  Heath,  she  was  to  see 
the  place  untidy,  I  knew  well  enough  she  might  take  a  pre- 
judice which  nothing  would  overcome. 

Jenny  was  still  quite  ill,  though  the  doctor  spoke  less 
gravely  about  her  than  he  did  the  night  before.  But  it  was 
useless  for  her  to  think  of  moving ;  and  I  had  all  her  work 
to  attend  to  as  well  as  my  own.  Mrs.  Weir  was  to  come  to 
dinner,  and  a  roast  chicken  was  to  be  provided  for  her.  Dale, 
and  Polly,  and  I,  dined  off  some  cold  mutton,  without 
potatoes,  and  but  little  leisure  we  had  to  eat  that. 

About  four  o'clock  the  fly  drove  up  to  the  gate.  Wil- 
liams had  only  time  to  gather  up  some  of  the  carpentering 
tools,  and  rush  out  of  the  drawing-room  window,  whilst  Polly 
carried  away  in  her  lap  every  scrap  of  litter  she  could  see, 
before  it  was  at  the  front  door.  My  heart  beat  quite  fast. 
It  came  over  me  all  at  once  what  a  dreary  thing  the  new 


URSULA.  169 

home  would  be  to  Mrs.  Weir ;  and  when  the  flyman  let  down 
the  step,  and  I  went  forward  to  give  her  my  arm,  I  scarcely 
had  courage  to  look  her  in  the  face. 

But  I  had  no  reason  to  be  afraid.  Mrs.  Weir  was  not  a 
person  to  give  way  in  great  trials.  She  rested  her  hand 
upon  my  arm,  but  I  did  not  feel  it  even  tremble;  and,  when 
she  stood  upon  the  ground,  the  first  words  she  said  were, 
"  God  is  very  good,  Ursula ;  He  gives  us  friends  to  receive 
us  everywhere."  I  hoped  Miss  Milicent  would  have  come 
with  her  into  the  drawing  room,  but  she  always  left  her  mother 
to  me  when  I  was  there,  so  I  took  the  poor  lady  in  myself. 
The  strangeness  of  everything  did  then  rather  overcome  her, 
and  she  sat  down  and  cried  a  little,  but  they  were  very  cjuiet 
tears — not  at  all  like  those  of  a  person  who  considered  herself 
suifering  from  a  great  grief.  She  brightened  up  after  a  few 
minutes,  and  began  admiring  the  room,  and  saying  how  com- 
fortable it  Avas.  She  was  always  gracious  and  thoughtful  when 
people  had  been  working  for  her.  And  then  I  thought  of 
telling  her  a  little  about  the  time  it  had  taken  to  put  every- 
thing in  order,  thinking  by  that  means  to  distract  her 
tlioughts.  It  was  all  very  awkward  and  odd ;  I  could  not 
tell  what  to  do  next,  and  I  was  wishing  to  be  in  half-a-dozen 
places  at  once.  But  my  work  was  soon  settled,  for  in  walked 
Miss  Milicent,  and  with  her  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Temple. 

I  can't  say  how  cross  I  felt.  Just  at  the  very  moment 
Mrs.  Weir  wanted  to  rest  and  be  alone  !  And  Miss  Milicent 
not  to  know  better  than  to  bring  them  straight  into  the  draw- 
ing-room without  notice  !     But  it  was  exactly  like  her. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  and  she  went  up  to  Mrs.  Weir,  "  here 
is  Matilda  Temple,  and  her  husband,  too.  They  have  been 
waiting  to  see  you.  " 

Mrs.  Weir  looked  up  as  though  in  a  dream  ;  she  made  no 
answer. 

Mr.  Temple  held  back,  but  his  wife  urged  him  on.  ''  1 
am  afraid  we  have  called  at  an  awkward  moment,"  he  began. 

"  Only  it  was  impossible  to  resist  the  temptation,"  inter- 
rupted Mrs.  Temple.  "  Being  in  this  part  of  the  world,  we 
felt  you  would  consider  it  so  unkind,  my  dear  aunt,  if  we 
passed  the  house  without  coming  in.  And  our  time  is  so 
short, — only  till  to-morrow, — and  there  is  so  much  to  see, — 
Vol.  T.— S 


170  U  K  S  U  L  A  . 

such  lovely  scenery ;  "  and  then,  putting  her  head  a  little 
to  one  side,  and  twisting  her  mouth,  she  added,  "  Besides,  it 
is  so  sweet  to  meet  the  friends  one  loves." 

I  watched  Mrs.  Weir's  face  all  the  time  Mrs.  Temple 
was  speaking,  expecting  to  see  something  of  anger  or  annoy- 
ance  in  it.  But  not  the  least !  As  gently  and  sweetly  as 
ever  she  answered,  "  I  was  not  quite  prepared  to  see  you, 
Matilda  ;  but  Milicent  and  I  will  do  our  best  to  make  you 
and  Stephen  welcome." 

"  We  must  make  ourselves  welcome  first,  mother,"  said 
Miss  Milicent,  bluntly.  "  Cousin  Matilda,  I  think  you  and 
Stephen  had  better  go  now,  and  come  again  by  an  by." 

"  It  is  a  very  short  peep,"  said  Mrs.  Temple. 

"  Ursula,"  Mrs.  Weir  turned  to  me.  "  I  think  I  feel 
rather  tired.  Matilda,  you  will  excuse  me.  I  am  a  little 
"  Her  voice  failed  her,  and  she  looked  extremely  pale. 

"Faint,"  said  Mrs.  Temple;  she  came  forward  to  push 
me  aside,  and  support  Mrs.  Weir's  head. 

But  I  kept  my  place. 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me.  Ma'am,"  I  said,  "  I  think  Mrs. 
Weir  is  most  used  to  me  ;  and.  Miss  Milicent,  if  you  would 
be  good  enough  to  pour  out  the  sal  volatile,  and  if  Mrs.  Weir 
might  be  left  quite  alone." 

I  was  obliged  to  speak  plainly,  and  Mr.  Temple  took  the 
hint,  walked  to  the  door,  and  looked  back,  expecting  his  wife 
to  follow. 

"  Yes,  go,  my  dear,"  she  said,  nodding  her  head  at  him, 
"  I  shall  come  presently ;  she  will  be  better ;  it  is  only 
fatigue — nervousness.  I  dare  say  the  pleasure  of  seeing  us 
was  a  little  too  much.  I  shall  come  presently.  Don't  wait 
for  me,  my  dear." 

I  made  sure  Miss  Milicent  would  have  burst  out  then. 
She  was  not  usually  so  cowed  ; — but  no — she  went  out  of  the 
room,  and  sent  Cotton  in,  and  left  her,  and  Mrs.  Temple, 
and  me  together. 

No  doubt  it  was  fortunate  for  me  that  we  were  obliged 
to  think  of  Mrs.  Weir  instead  of  ourselves,  or  Mrs.  Temple 
and  I  might  not  have  been  such  good  friends.  We  had  a 
difficult  matter  to  bring  Mrs.  Weir  round.  It  was  full  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  before  she  recovered  enough  to  speak, 


URSULA.  171 

tliougli  I  don't  think  she  ever  quite  lost  her  consciousness. 
Mrs.  Temple  was  sensible  and  helpful  enough  in  what  she 
did,  but  the  nonsense  she  talked  was  not  to  bo  imagined. 
She  seemed  to  think  it  was  quite  fortunate  that  she  happened 
to  be  there,  and  declared  several  times  that  she  couldn't  think 
how  we  should  have  managed  without  her.  "  But  all  things 
were  so  Providentially  ordered,"  she  said.  I  don't  believe  it 
once  entered,  her  head  that  she  had  worried  Mrs.  Weir  by 
thrusting  herself  upon  her  at  a  wrong  time. 

At  last,  when  it  was  a  question  of  taking  Mrs.  Weir  up- 
stairs, I  made  a  stand.  Cotton  and  I  knew  very  well  what 
to  do ;  and  Mrs.  Temple  should  not  come,  I  was  resolved.  I 
whispered  to  Mrs.  Weir  to  beg  her  to  go ;  and  the  poor  lady, 
in  a  very  feeble  voice,  thanked  her  niece  as  though  she  had 
done  the  most  self-denying  act  possible,  and  hoped  to  be 
better,  and  see  her  again  in  the  evening. 

I  did  not  think  even  then  that  we  should  have  got  rid  of 
her  f  but  she  twisted  her  mouth,  and  said  it  was  a  delightful 
privilege  to  be  permitted  to  help  a  friend  ;  and  then  she  kissed 
Mrs.  Weir  and  departed. 

All  that  evening  Mrs.  Weir  kept  her  room.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Temple  called  again,  but  I  urged  Miss  Milicent  to 
send  them  down  word  that  her  mother  was  not  well  enough 
to  see  them,  and  so  they  were  not  admitted.  And,  as  they 
were  to  go  the  next  day,  I  pleased  myself  with  thinking  we 
should  be  left  to  arrange  our  own  affairs  without  interrup- 
tion, and  that,  if  Mr.  Temple  had  business  to  talk  over, 
he  would  just  spend  an  hour  with  Mrs.  Weu'  in  the  morning, 
and  there  would  be  an  end  of  it.  But  little  I  knew  of  Mrs. 
Temple. 

Mrs.  Weir  was  better  the  next  morning  ;  and  a  message 
came  over  from  the  hotel  to  say  that  Mr.  Temple  would  like 
to  see  her  if  she  was  able.  What  passed  I  don't  exactly 
know.  It  was  not  a  very  long  talk,  and  I  don't  expect  it 
was  one  of  much  consequence,  except  that  Mr.  Temple 
was  anxious  to  put  in  a  claim  for  some  old  debt,  of  a  couple 
of  hundred  pounds,  which,  now  that  the  Dene  estate  was  sold, 
he  thought  might  as  well  be  paid  off.  A  letter  to  the 
lawyer  would  have  managed  the  business  just  as  well,  as  far 
as  I  could  ever  understand ;  and,  as  to  Mrs.  Temple  being  a 


172  U  E  S  U  L  A  . 

favourite,  Miss  Miliceut  herself  told  me  that  her  cousin 
Matilda  had  been  the  torment  of  the  family  for  the  last  ten 
years,  though  her  mother  had  always  been  willing  to  think 
the  best  of  her. 

Whilst  Mr.  Temple  was  with  Miss  Milieent,  IVIrs.  Temple 
insisted  upon  going  up-stairs  to  sit  with  Mrs.  Weir,  and  it 
was  no  use  for  me  to  try  and  prevent  it,  as  I  had  to  be  in  the 
kitchen  looking  after  the  cooking,  Jenny  being  still  too  ill 
to  move  or  do  anything  but  sit  up  for  about  an  hour,  and 
there  being  no  one  at  hand  to  take  her  place.  I  wondered 
to  myself  at  what  time  Mrs.  Temple  and  her  husband  meant 
to  go,  and  wished  I  could  see  a  fly  drive  up  to  take  them 
away,  for  I  had"  a  misgiving  that  we  should  have  no  peace 
till  they  were  gone ;  but  just  as  I  had  Mrs.  Weir's  luncheon 
ready,  and  was  putting  it  on  the  tray  to  be  taken  up-stairs, 
down  came  Cotton  from  Mrs.  Weir's  room. 

"  Well !  Miss  G-rant,"  she  said  (I  was  always  called  Miss 
Grant  by  the  servants  because  of  its  being  more  respectful), 
"  What  are  we  to  do  now  ?  I  should  like  to  know  how  the 
house  is  to  hold  us  alh" 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Why  won't  the  house 
hold  us  all  to-day,  as  well  as  it  did  yesterday  ?  " 

"  We  filled  it  yesterday,"  she  answered ;  "  and  when 
there  are  two  more  to  be  put  in,  I  won't  undertake  to  say 
where  they  are  to  be  quartered." 

"■  Two  more  !  "  I  said,  and  I  felt  very  uncomfortable. 
"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Temple  in  the  back  room,  and  Miss  Mill- 
cent  in  the  little  room,  and  then  what  is  to  become  of  you, 
Miss  Grant  ?     I  would  make  a  stir  about  it,  that  I  would. 
I  would  not  submit  to  be  put  up  in  the  attic." 
"  They  can't  come,"  I  said ;  "  it's  nonsense." 
"  They  will  come,"  she  answered,  "  and  it's  no  nonsense." 
I  did  not  believe  her — I  could  not ;  it  seemed  so  mon- 
strous.    Mrs.  Weir  being  just  come  into  the  house,  nothing 
arranged,  and  she,  herself,  ill  and  in  great  grief,  and  having 
lost  so  much  of  her  fortune,  I  thought  it  impossible  than  any 
persons  could  have  the  face  to  accept  such  an  invitation  even 
if  it  had  been  made. 

As  for  sleeping  in  the  attic,  I  did  not  choose  to  talk  about 
that  with  Cotton.     If  it  had  been  a  real  benefit  to  any  one, 


URSULA.  173 

I  would  have  slept  in  the  kitchen  or  the  scullery.  It  was 
not  that  I  cared  for,  but  the  notion  of  having  that  dreadful 
woman  entirely  in  the  house,  never  to  be  free  from  her ;  for 
the  moment  I  did  think  that  I  must  give  up  and  go  oiF  at 
once  to  Sandcombe. 

"  The  luncheon  will  be  cold  if  you  don't  take  it  up  at 
once,"  I  said  to  Cotton,  trying  not  to  show  that  I  thought 
anything  of  her  news. 

"  Not  so  cold  as  somebody's  welcome  should  be,  if  I  had 
my  will,"  she  replied ;  "  but  you  are  very  strange.  Miss 
Grrant.  I  don't  think  you  know  a  bit  when  you  are  put 
upon." 

Cotton  was  wrong ;  I  did  know  very  well,  but  when 
persons  serve  for  love  their  shoulders  can  bear  a  tolerably 
heavy  burden. 

As  we  were  speaking  Miss  Milicent  came  out  from  the 
drawing-room,  looking  feverish  and  hurried.  She  sent  Cot- 
ton-away, and  then  said,  "  Ursie,  what  have  we  got  in  the 
house  ?     We  must  have  dinner  at  six  o'clock." 

"  There  are  some  cutlets  and  the  remains  of  the  chicken, 
which  I  was  going  to  fricassee,"  I  said  ;  "  I  thought,  with 
a  bit  of  bacon  and  a  pudding,  that  would  be  enough,  Miss 
Milicent,  for  you  and  Mrs.  Weir." 

"  You  had  better  get  a  leg  of  lamb,  Ursie.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Temple  are  likely  to  be  here." 

"  To  stay,  Ma'am  ?  "  I  said,  for  I  thought  I  would  have 
it  out  with  her  at  once. 

"  That  is  as  may  be,"  she  answered  gruffly.  "  They  won't 
stay  for  my  asking,  but  my  mother  is  so  easily  taken  over. 
She  has  no  more  power  of  saying  '  No'  than  a  baby.  And  as 
for  Matilda  Temple,  she  would  come  over  a  hyena." 

"  Then  I  am  sure,  Miss  Milicent,  I  am  worse  than  a 
hyena,"  I  said,  and  I  could  not  help  laughing,  vexed  though 
I  was.  "  She  would  never  come  over  me,  you  will  excuse 
my  saying  so." 

"  i)on't  boast,  Ursie  ;  you  have  never  had  to  do  with  her. 
You  see  if  she  is  not  come  to  quarter  herself  upon  us  for  a 
month,  and  neither  you  nor  I,  nor  any  one  will  be  al)le  to 
say  her  nay." 

"  But  indeed,  Miss   Milicent,"  I   exclaimed,    "  it  ought 


174  URSULA. 

not  to  be.  She  will  drive  Mrs.  Weir  out  of  her  senses.  It 
is  mj  belief  that  it  was  seeing  her  helped  to  make  the  poor 
ladj  faint  yesterday." 

"  If  she  was  dying,  Matilday  Temple  wovild  stick  by  her," 
exclaimed  Miss  Milicent;  "  and  talk  good  all  the  time,  till 
she  thought  herself  a  saint,  and  made  my  mother  think  so 
too." 

"  And  where  are  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Temple  to  sleep,  Ma'am  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  I  shall  take  to  the  attic,"  said  Miss  Milicent. 

"  Oh  !  no  indeed,"  I  exclaimed  ;  "  that  must  not  be.  Miss 
Milicent.  There  is  my  room,  quite  ready.  I  will  move  my 
things  in  a  minute,  and  the  attic  is  quite  as  good  as  I  shall 
want." 

"  It  won't  be,  Ursie  Grant,"  she  replied,  catching  hold  of 
my  arm,  as  was  her  habit ;  "  my  mother  won't  allow  it,  and, 
what  is  more,  if  she  would  I  would  not.  When  you  came 
to  help  us  in  our  troubles  we  promised  you  a  comfortable 
room,  and  we  aren't  going  to  have  it  taken  from  you  by  any 
one." 

"  Only  if  I  give  it  up,  it  is  not  taken  from  me,"  I  said  ; 
"  and,  indeed,  Miss  Milicent,  it  is  not  fitting ;  I  could  not 
stay  here,  with  you  sleeping  in  the  attic,  and  me  in  the  room 
below." 

She  would  make  no  reply,  but  went  off,  and  I  heard  her 
tell  Fanny  to  come  and  help  carry  her  boxes  up-stairs. 

It  touched  me,  I  confess.  I  did  not  believe  she  had  so 
much  thought,  but  it  made  me  very  uncomfortable ;  for  really, 
as  I  said,  it  was  unfitting,  and  I  had  a  kind  of  fear  that  it 
would  make  mischief. 

I  took  the  opportunity  of  going  up-stairs  to  Mrs.  Weir, 
under  pretence  of  carrying  away  the  luncheon,  and,  fortu- 
nately, I  found  her  by  herself  Cotton  had  persuaded  her 
to>get  up  and  dress,  and  she  was  sitting  by  the  window. 

"  I  was  not  prepared  to  see  you  there.  Ma'am,"  I  said  ; 
"  I  fancied  you  wouldn't  get  up  till  the  afternoon." 

"  I  feel  better,  thank  you,  Ursula,  and  lying  in  bed  only 
weakens  me  ;  besides,  I  have  had  a  visitor." 

"  I  was  afraid  Mrs.  Temple  would  have  been  too  much 
for  you,  Ma'am.     Seeing  her  did  you  harm  yesterday." 


URSULA.  175 

"  No,  Ursula,  it  only  startled  me  a  little.  Mrs.  Temple 
is  a  very  good  woman,  and  when  she  talks  to  me,  she  re- 
minds me  of  many  things  which  I  am  too  apt  to  forget." 

"  Indeed,  Ma'am,"  was  all  I  could  say. 

"  She  has  been  very  well  brought  up,"  continued  Mrs. 
Weir,  "  and  she  has  done  a  greau  deal  for  her  husband.  He 
was  very  extravagant  as  a  young  man,  and  she  has  quite 
cured  him,  and  now  he  gives  all  his  money  to  charities.  He 
owes  her  a  great  deal." 

"  And  no  doubt  she  takes  care  to  make  him  pay  it,"  was 
the  uncharitable  thought  which  crossed  my  mind,  but  I  an- 
swered by  asking  if  Mrs.  Temple  was  likely  to  remain  long 
in  the  neighbourhood. 

"  I  have  persuaded  her  to  stay  for  three  or  four  days, 
Ursula.  She  has  never  seen  this  part  of  the  country,  and 
she  wishes  to  do  so  very  much,  but  she  cannot  be  at  the 
hotel.  She  cannot  bear  it ;  it  is  noisy,  and  she  is  not 
strong." 

"  Persons  who  travel  can  scarcely  expect  to  meet  with 
the  same  quietness  they  have  at  home,"  I  replied ;  "  but  I 
never  heard  any  complaint  of  the  hotel.  Ma'am." 

"  Mrs.  Temple  does  not  complain.  She  says,  very  rightly, 
that  the  worst  accommodation  is  better  than  creatures  like 
ourselves  deserve.  Indeed,  she  made  me  ashamed  of  being 
so  particular  myself.  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me,  Ursula,  if 
I  have  ever  given  you  trouble  by  it.  I  have  been  very  much 
spoilt." 

I  saw  a  tear  glisten  in  the  poor  lady's  eye,  and  I  ventured 
to  take  her  hand,  and  say,  "  Dear  Ma'am,  if  you  will  please 
not  talk  so,  twenty  times  the  trouble  would  be  nothing  in 
return  for  the  goodness  and  kindness  you  have  shown  to  me 
for  years." 

"  Ah !  but,  Ursula,  it  is  not  right  to  let  the  mind  rest 
upon  these  trifles.  Mrs.  Temple  is  not  fanciful  as  I  am. 
When  I  told  her  that  I  was  afraid  the  bed  in  Milicent's  room 
might  be  hard,  she  assured  me  she  could  sleep  upon  the 
ground  if  needful." 

"  Pei-haps  Mr.  Temple  may  be  more  fidgety,  Ma'am,"  1 
observed ;  for  I  could  not  help  noticing  how  entirely  the 
good  gentleman  was  put  aside,  even  by  Mrs.  Weir. 


176  URSULA. 

"  Ah  !  Ursula,  Mrs.  Temple  has  done  so  mucli  for  her  hus- 
band in  that  respect,  as  well  as  in  many  others.  She  says 
that  he  is  a  changed  man  since  she  first  knew  him.  He  has 
no  wish  for  fine  carpets  and  curtains,  and  soft  beds,  and  sofas. 
He  desires  nothing  but  quietness.  That  is  an  excellent  in- 
fluence for  a  wife  to  exercise. 

Mrs.  Weir  sighed,  and  I  knew  that  she  was  in  her 
heart  reproaching  herself  for  having  encouraged  her  hus- 
band in  extravagance  by  her  own  fancifulness. 

''  They  will  find  the  room  small,  Ma'am,"  I  said  ;  "  and 
I  don't  quite  know  what  to  do  about  the  dressing-room. 
Fanny  and  I  had  thought  of  filling  it  with  the  things  we 
couldn't  put  elsewhere." 

A  harassed  look  came  over  Mrs.  Weir's  face ;  it  always 
did  when  there  was  the  least  fuss  about  arrangements.  Her 
brow  contracted,  and  there  was  a  heavy  darkness  across  her 
eyes.     I  saw  it  would  not  do  to  make  more  objections. 

"  You  can  fill  my  room,  Ursula,  if  you  like.  I  am  not 
going  to  be  so  particular  as  I  have  been.  What  docs  it  sig- 
nify ?     I  shall  soon  be  out  of  this  world." 

"  But  those  who  love  you,  dear  Ma'am,"  I  said,  "  will 
take  care  that  you  shall  be  comfortable  whilst  you  are  in  it. 
Please  don't  trouble  yourself;  we  shall  manage,  I  dare  say; 
and  it  won't  be  for  long,  I  suppose." 

.  "  Only  for  two  days,  Ursula.  Mrs.  Temple  is  obliged  to 
be  at  home.  She  is  making  preparations  for  a  charity  ba- 
zaar ;  so  she  cannot  stay.  I  have  promised  to  look  over  my 
things,  and  see  what  I  can  spare  for  her.  I  was  just  think- 
ing, when  you  came  up,  that  you  might,  if  you  would,  be 
kind  enough  to  unpack  one  of  my  boxes,  and  help  me  to 
choose." 

I  am  afraid  I  felt  very  unwilling;  but  as  I  did  not  ven- 
ture actually  to  say  "  No,"  I  replied  that,  if  I  might  be  al- 
lowed, I  would  rather  wait  just  now,  for  I  had  to  go  to  see 
about  dinner. 

"  Thank  you,  by  and  by  will  do  very  well ;  or,  perhaps 
Cotton  will  bring  the  box." 

Already  in  my  mind  I  saw  Mrs.  Temple  fingering  all  the 
pretty  little  toys  and  ornaments  in  which  Mrs.  Weir  found 
pleasure ;  and  my  heart  swelled  so  that  I  really  could  not 


URSULA.  IV? 

answer.  But  there  was  uo  escape.  Mrs.  Weir's  mind,  I 
could  see,  was  possessed  with  the  notion  of  giving  up  some- 
thing she  cared  for.  What  that  tiresome  woman  had  been 
saying  to  her,  I  was  unable  to  imagine. 


CHAPTEE    XXIV. 

Miss  Milicent  took  possession  of  the  attic,  in  spite  of 
all  I  could  say,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Temple  were  put  into 
her  room  ;  and,  as  it  seemed,  were  likely  long  to  remain  there. 
As  for  going  away  in  two  days,  I  was  sure  from  the  begin- 
ning what  that  would  come  to.  If  ever  there  was  a  woman 
who  might  be  called  a  burr,  it  was  Mrs.  Temple.  Once  let 
her  come  near  you,  and,  as  Miss  Milicent  said,  she  would 
stick  to  you  through  everything.  You  might  cast  her  off  one 
minute,  and  think  you  were  rid  of  her,  and  the  next  you  were 
sure  to  find  her  clinging  to  you  again.  When  the  two  days 
were  over,  she  declared  herself  to  be  wonderfully  better  for 
the  sea  air,  and  Mrs.  Weir  was  very  pleased,  really  so,  I  do 
believe ;  she  was  pleased  at  anything  which  did  good.  Mrs. 
Temple  was  pressed  to  stay.  I  remembered  the  charity 
bazaar ;  but  if  there  were  really  going  to  be  one,  there  was 
certainly  no  hurry  in  preparing  for  it.  Not  but  what  it  was 
still  talked  about.  Mrs.  Temple  was  always  collecting  sea- 
weeds out  of  doors,  or  cutting  up  bits  of  card-board  in  doors, 
liking,  she  said,  to  employ  her  time  usefully ;  and  I  take  it 
for  granted  it  was  all  useful,  for  even  Miss  Milicent  was 
drawn  in  by  her,  and  made  to  search  for  stones  and  specimens, 
as  Mrs.  Temple  called  them,  all  which  were  to  go  to  the  char- 
ity bazaar. 

In  a  week  the  house  had  settled  down  as  though  INIrs. 
Temple  had  lived  there,  and  meant  to  live  there,  always. 
But  it  was  just  the  contrary  with  me ;  having  her  there  opened 
my  eyes  to  one  thing, — that  I  was  not  so  necessary  to  Mrs. 
Weir  as  I  imagined.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  discovery,  but 
it  made  me  see  how  selfish  I  might  be,  even  in  what  appeared 
to  be  my  best  feelings.  AVhat  Mrs.  Weir  wanted  was  a  little 
sympathy  and  amusement ;  and  when  she  could  obtain  this, 
Vol.  I.— 8* 


178  URSULA. 

her  life  was  tolerably  comfortable  ;  for  she  "was  like  a  cliild, 
accustomed  to  live  just  for  the  day,  and  to  trust  everything 
to  others.  The  very  weight  of  the  cares  and  griefs  which 
had  burdened  her  for  so  many  years,  I  believe,  forced  her 
to  this.  Her  husband  had  made  her  helpless,  and  kept  her  so  ; 
and  now  nothing  roused  her  except  some  great  call  of  what 
she  considered  duty,  such  as  that  which  had  made  her  dwell 
so  much  upon  the  thought  of  rejoining  Mr.  Weir.  If  that 
notion  were  to  come  up  again,  I  knew  she  would  startle  us  all 
by  her  energy ;  but  now  she  was  sinking  down  into  a  kind  of 
life  which  sometimes  made  me  think  of  the  beautiful  sea 
anemones  found  upon  the  shore, — half  vegetable  and  half 
animal, — moving  their  long  feelers,  and  searching,  as  it  were, 
for  something,  they  scarcely  knew  what ;  yet  contented  to 
remain  in  one  place,  and  appearing  to  find  a  kind  of  solace 
in  spreading  themselves  out  in  the  sun,  and  taking  thankfully 
the  light  and  air  which  Grod,  in  His  wonderful  Wisdom, 
had  provided  for  them. 

It  is  happy  for  us,  I  am  sure,  that  we  do  not  all  need  the 
same  comfort.  I  should  never  have  found  mine  where  Mrs. 
Weir  did,  in  Mrs.  Temple's  society ;  but  in  saying  this,  I 
don't  in  the  least  mean  that  I  was,  therefore,  in  any  way 
better  or  wiser  than  Mrs.  Weir, — quite  the  contrary.  It  was 
the  very  goodness  and  simplicity  which  I  never  could  attain  to 
that  made  her  take  for  reality  what  always  seemed  to  me  mere 
outside  show.  Mrs.  Temple  showed  herself  to  me  the  first  night 
I  ever  saw  her ;  she  was  ofi'  her  guard  then,  and  the  impres- 
sion I  had  of  her  remained  by  me.  Perhaps,  but  for  that,  I 
too  might  have  been  deluded  by  her.  But  I  don't  know ; 
there  is  something  in  true  kindness  and  goodness,  which  I 
fancy  can  never  be  counterfeited.  All  the  fine  talking  and 
appearance  of  sympathy,  which  Mrs.  Weir  had  such  faith  in, 
sounded  to  me  hollow  from  the  beginning ;  and  I  could  not 
but  see  by  Mrs.  Temple's  words  and  ways  that  she  had  one 
great  besetting  sin,  which,  as  far  as  I  could  discover,  she 
was  totally  blind  to.  She  was  a  thoroughly  mean  woman 
about  money  matters.  She  had  not  been  well,  and  she 
wanted  change  and  sea  air  ;  that  was  the  history  of  her  visit 
to  Compton  Heath ;  and  as  days  went  on,  I  saw  that  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  from  the  beginning  to  come  and  quarter 


URSULA.  179 

herself  upon  Mrs.  Weir,  not  for  one  or  two  nights,  hut  for  a 
month,  or  six  weeks,  or  any  time  that  might  suit  her.  But 
she  would  not  have  said  it  for  the  world.  No,  all  the  time 
it  was,  that  she  was  so  anxious  to  go,  only  her  aunt  pressed 
her  to  stay,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  a  little  sympathy  and  aifec- 
tionate  comijanionship  so  much,  that  really,  in  her  distressed 
state, — a  state  worse  than  widowhood, — she  could  not  make 
up  her  mind  to  leave  her. 

It  was  all  quite  true  about  Mrs.  Weir ;  she  did  like  it, 
at  least  in  a  certain  way,  and  for  a  time.  To  me,  it  was  just 
like  having  a  wet  blanket  thrown  over  me  to  hear  Mrs.  Tem- 
ple converse,  especially  when  she  touched  upon  serious  sub- 
jects. I  never  knew  what  to  say,  or  which  way  to  look  ;  and 
though  I  could  have  listened  to  Mrs.  Weir  for  hours,  when 
she  talked  to  me  in  her  earnest,  simple  way,  I  never  heard 
one  of  Mrs.  Temple's  set  speeches  without  feeling  as  though 
I  wished  a  trap- door  could  open  in  the  floor,  and  I  might  sink 
down  and  hide  myself.  But  dear,  good  Mrs.  Weir,  took  it 
all  in  like  a  sermon.  She  was  so  sincere  herself  that  she 
could  not  suspect  others  of  make-believe ;  and  constant  sor- 
row, and  thinking  of  serious  matters,  and  living  in  that 
strange  dreamy  way,  out  of  the  world,  made  her  prepared  at 
all  times  for  subjects  which  came  to  other  people  with  a 
a  shock  and  a  jar. 

Miss  Milicent  and  I  had  a  little  conversation  upon  this 
subject  one  day.  It  was  after  we  had  been  at  the  Heath 
about  three  weeks,  and  I  had  received  a  letter  from  Roger, 
saying  he  had  finished  his  business  in  London,  and  was  coming 
down  the  nest  week  to  Sandcombe,  and  asking  if  I  could  go 
over  and  see  him,  if  it  was  only  for  a  few  days.  As  things 
were,  it  struck  me,  that  I  might  just  as  well  make  my  move 
once  for  all.  There  might  never  be  a  better  moment ;  and 
that  afternoon,  when  Miss  Milicent  came  into  the  kitchen 
to  give  some  orders,  I  determined  to  propose  it  to  her.  I 
was  standing  there,  showing  Cotton  how  to  make  Mrs. 
Weir's  coflFee, — for  Jenny  Dale,  though  she  was  pretty  well 
again,  and  able  to  cook,  had  never  managed  to  make  cofiee 
to  please  Mrs.  Weir, 

"  I  should  like  to  speak  to  you  if  you  please.  Miss  Mili- 
cent," I  said,  "  if  you  are  not  busy." 


180  URSULA. 

"  Yes,  I  cam  busy  ;  I  always  am,"  she  answered ;  and  true 
enough  it  did  appear  that  she  ought  to  be  busy,  even  if  she 
was  not,  for  it  wouhl  have  taken  full  ten  minutes,  rightly,  to 
put  herself  tidy.  She  had  been  down  upon  the  shore,  getting 
seaweeds,  and  crabs,  and  crawling  things,  to  be  placed  in  a 
glass,  for  Mrs.  Temple — I  suppose  for  the  charity  bazaar. 
Such  a  mass  of  mud  on  her  short  tucked-up  dress,  and  such 
boots !  and  the  pockets  of  her  loose  jacket  stuck  full  of  stones 
and  shells,  and  her  bonnet  all  awry ;  if  I  had  not  seen  her 
nearly  the  same  every  day,  for  the  last  fortnight,  I  don't 
think  I  could  have  kept  from  a  smile. 

But  I  tried  to  be  very  respectful,  knowing  my  temptation 
the  other  way,  and  I  said,  "  I  wouldn't  trouble  you  if  you 
are  really  busy.  Miss  Milicent,  but  I  have  had  a  letter  this 
morning,  and  I  thought  I  should  like  to  talk  to  you  about 
it." 

"  A  letter,  have  you  ?     Oh  !  " 

Miss  Milicent's  look  grew  softer.  She  took  a  real  in- 
terest in  Roger,  and  must  have  guessed  the  letter  was  from 
him ;  but  she  still  went  her  own  "way. 

"  I  want  some  brown  pans,  Jenny,"  she  said,  "  flat  pans ; 
and  where  is  the  sea-water  Dale  brought  up  from  the  shore  ? 
Here  are  beautiful  things  to  be  cared  for,"  and  she  uncovered 
a  basket  and  showed  a  mass  of  slimy-looking  coloured  jelly, 
lying  upon  stones  and  seaweeds,  with  tiny  crabs  and  peri- 
winkles, and  all  kinds  of  uncouth  creatures,  crawling  about 
amongst  them. 

"  They  things  had  best  have  stayed  where  they  were  born, 
it's  my  opinion,"  said  Jenny;  "  they  don't  look  natural-like 
here.     What  am  I  to  do  with  them.  Miss  Milicent  ?  " 

As  she  spoke,  Jenny  poked  one  of  them  with  a  skewer, 
and  then  started  back,  declaring  "  she  wouldn't,  for  the  life 
of  her,  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  If  she  might  put  it  in 
the  pot  and  boil  it  she  wouldn't  so  much  care,  but  live  jelly 
was  what  she  was  not  used  to." 

I  brought  the  pans  from  the  scullery  myself,  and  Miss 
Milicent  and  I  moved  her  creatures,  as  she  called  them,  into 
it,  and  then,  as  they  began  to  unfold  in  the  clear  water, 
Jenny  ventured  to  look  in  upon  them,  and,  in  spite  of  her 
declarations,    that    "  they  weren't  canny,  and  she  couldn't 


URSULA.  181 

abide  them,"  we  left  her  standing  by  the  pans  and  poking 
them  about  with  the  skewer. 

All  this  time  Miss  Milicent  seemed  to  have  no  thought  for 
my  business,  but  when  her  own  was  finished  she  said,  "  Now, 
tJrsie  Grant,  if  you  choose  to  come  to  the  dining  room,  I 
can  see  the  letter,"  and  away  she  walked,  expecting  me  to 
follow  her. 

We  went  into  the  dining  room,  and  she  shut  to  the  door. 
"  Well !  what  is  the  mischief  ?  "  she  began. 

"  That  Roger  is  coming  to  Sandcombe,  Miss  Milicent, 
and  I  think  it  is  time  for  me  to  be  going,"  I  replied. 

"  You  have  taken  an  uppish  fit,  have  you  ?  "  she  replied. 
"  I  thought  it  would  come  to  this ;  Mrs.  Temple  said  it 
yesterday." 

"  Mrs.  Temple  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yes  !  she  is  a  sharp  woman,  though  not  after  my  fancy 
in  all  things.  She  said  she  saw  it  in  you  the  first  night  she 
came ;  and  I  have  a  doubt  that  you  were  not  too  civil  to  her 
then,  Ursie  Grant." 

I  was  upon  the  point  of  explaining,  but  I  remembered 
that  evil  words  multiply  by  being  taken  up  and  cut  to  pieces, 
like  the  creatures  Miss  Milicent  had  just  brought  into  the 
kitchen ;  so  I  let  Mrs.  Temple's  unkind  remarks  pass,  and 
answered,  "  You  would  scarcely  have  said  that  Miss  Mili- 
cent, if  you  had  known  all  that  went  on.  But  I  don't  know 
what  I  have  done  to  make  you  or  any  one  call  me  up- 
pish. It  can't  be  because  I  talk  of  going  away,  for  that 
has  been  settled  ever  since  I  came." 

"  I  knew  how  it  would  be,"  persisted  Miss  Milicent,  in  her 
old  way,  carrying  on  her  own  words  just  as  though  I  had  not 
spoken.  "  Matilda  Temple  said  she  was  sure  you  would 
never  go  on  long,  dining  in  the  kitchen  with  old  Dale  and 
his  wife,  and  not  having  a  place  to  sit  in  except  your  bed- 
room. She  was  wrong  though  in  one  thing,  as  I  told  her, 
for  it  was  my  own  will  to  go  to  the  attic." 

"  Oh  !  Miss  Milicent,"  I  exclaimed,  "  how  can  you  listen 
to  Mrs.  Temple ;  did  I  ever  complain '?  " 

"  No  ;  bufyou  are  going  away." 

"  But  not  for  that,"  I  replied,  and  I  felt  the  angry  colour 
rush  to  my  check.     "  If  there  is  one  thing  I  hate  more  than 


182  URSULA. 

another,  it  is  taking  upon  oneself  to  have  airs,  and  being 
above  doing  what  is  kind  and  helping.  I  would  dine  with 
old  Dale  and  sit  in  my  bedroom  from  this  hour  till  the  day 
of  my  death,  if  it  was  my  duty,  and  could  comfort  any  one, 
much  more  be  of  use  to  Mrs.  Weir,  and  you  know  it,  Miss 
Milicent.  You  don't  really  believe  Mrs.  Temple  ;  if  you  did, 
it  would  be  a  hard  struggle  with  me  to  keep  from  walking 
out  of  the  house  and  never  entering  it  again." 

"  I  was  wrong,  Ursie,"  she  said,  and  she  stretched  out  her 
large  hand,  stained  with  the  marks  of  the  mud  and  sea-weed 
she  had  been  handling,  and  gave  me  something  between  a  pat 
and  a  shake.  "  But  it  comes  over  me,  and  that's  the  truth, 
and  if  Mr.  Temple  and  Matilda  weren't  here,  I  think  I 
should  run  away." 

"  I  fincied  you  didn't  like  their  staying,"  I  observed. 

"  No,  I  had  rather  have  you  than  them,  any  day,  but  I 
had  rather  have  them  than  nobody.  Don't  you  see  how 
quiet  my  mother  has  been  since  Mrs.  Temj)le  has  taken  to 
being  with  her  ?  " 

"  Just  for  the  time,"  I  said ;  "  but  Mrs.  Weir  must  see 
through  it  some  day.  Miss  Milicent,  as  you  and  I  do." 

"  She  may,  and  she  mayn't ;  any  how,  it  helps  for  the 
time." 

"  Oh !  Miss  Milicent,"  I  exclaimed,  "  can  you  bear  to  see 
the  good  lady  deceived,  and  made  to  rest  upon  another,  when 
you,  her  own  flesh  and  blood,  that  could  be  everything  to  her, 
are  close  at  hand  ?  " 

I  had  never  spoken  so  plainly  before,  and  I  was  afraid 
how  my  words  might  be  taken.  Miss  Milicent  winced  a 
little,  but  she  had  a  way  of  turning  off  from  any  subject  she 
disliked,  and  making  an  excuse  by  finding  fault  with  some 
one  else.  That  was  how  she  managed  to  deceive  herself  upon 
this  one  point,  and  so  I  suppose  it  is  with  us  all. 

"  My  mother  is  very  queer,  Ursie,"  she  said,  "as  you 
well  know,  and  ever  since  I  can  remember  she  has  looked  for 
comfort  out  of  her  own  family.  The  doctors  say  it's  health, 
and  I  dare  say  it  is;  but  whether  or  not,  I  can't  please  her, 
and  if  she  chooses  to  be  taken  in  by  Matilda  Temple,  why 
she  must  be." 

"  But  it  will  work  some  harm  in  the  end,  for  certain,"  I 


URSULA.  183 

said.  "  You  don't  trust  Mrs.  Temple  yourself,  Miss  Mili- 
cent." 

"  Not  I,  not  for  a  moment ;  yet  slie  is  not  such  a  hypocrite 
as  you  think,  Ursic.  She  humbugs  herself  just  as  much  as 
she  does  other  people." 

That  was  seeing  deeper  than  I  should  have  given  Miss 
Milicent  credit  for,  and  I  asked  her  what  she  meant. 

"  Why,  just  this,"  she  replied  ;  "  I  have  lived  a  good  deal 
with  Matilda  Temple,  and  seen  how  things  went  on.  She 
was  very  badly  brought  up  as  a  child,  left  quite  to  her  own 
ways.  She  never  knew  how  to  be  honest  and  open  like 
others,  and  she  loved  nothing  but  herself.  Then  her  mother 
died,  and  she  went  to  live  with  a  kind  of  cousin,  a  Mrs. 
Frere,  a  good  woman — yes,  a  good  woman,  if  ever  there  lived 
one  upon  earth,  but  one  who  was  always  lecturing  and  talk- 
ing of  religion.  I  could  not  endure  her  fashion  of  going  on 
myself,  and  I  ran  away  from  her  whenever  I  saw  her,  yet  I 
respected  her.  But  with  Matilda  it  was  different ;  she  learnt 
to  talk  the  same  as  her  cousin,  and  Mrs.  Frere  thought  her 
an  excellent,  good  child,  because  she  could  quote  texts,  and 
said  she  liked  to  hear  sermons,  and  Matilda  thought  so  her- 
self, and  she  thinks  so  now,  and  nobody  has  ever  told  her 
differently.  She  has  her  notion  of  goodness,  and  she  acts  up 
to  it." 

"  If  she  had  read  her  Bible,  she  might  have  found  out 
that  it  was  not  the  right  notion,  I  should  have  thought,"  was 
my  reply.  "To  be  sure,  I  have  seen  but  little  of  her,  but 
her  ways  do  strike  me  as  being  shabby." 

"  Shabby  !  she  is  the  shabbiest  woman,  and  the  proudest 
in  England,"  said  Miss  Milicent,  "  and  the  cleverest  besides. 
We  must  all  take  our  dose  of  religion,  Ursie,  that  we  know ; 
but  I  suppose  we  like  to  take  it  our  own  way.  Matilda 
Temple  wraps  up  hers  in  talk,  and  makes  it  a  good  size,  and 
then  she  swallows  it  whole,  and  so  it  never  tastes  unpleasant." 

I  did  not  answer  directly, — I  could  not.  It  came  over 
nic  with  such  a  terrible  dread,  that  we  might  all  be  doing 
the  same  in  some  way  or  other.  I  could  see  it  in  Miss  Mili- 
cent herself,  clear-sighted  though  she  was  to  Mrs.  Tcmplcs's 
short-comings,  and  there  was  I,  perhaps  as  great  a  self- 
deceiver  as  either. 


184  URSULA. 

Miss  Milicent  continued,  "  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  Matilda  Temple  should  think  much  of  herself.  There's 
her  little  husband  obeys  her  like  a  black  slave." 

"  And  it  is  true,  then,"  I  said,  "  what  Mrs.  Weir  told  mo, 
that  she  had  saved  him  from  being  extravagant  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  saved  him  from  that,  and  from  a  great  deal 
else,  and  made  him  nearly  as  shabby  as  herself;  only  I  must 
say  one  thing  for  him,  it  goes  against  the  grain." 

"  Really  !  Miss  Milicent,"  I  exclaimed,  "  you  do  surprise 
me.  If  you  think  of  your  cousins  in  this  way,  how  can  you 
bear  to  have  them  here  ?  " 

"  Because  anything  is  better  than  being  forced  to  give  in 
to  another  person's  fancies  all  day,  Ursie  Grant.  I  must 
have  liberty.  It  is  bad  enough,  anyhow,  to  be  set  down  in  a 
corner  of  the  world  like  this,  but  if  I  am  to  sit  in  doors  week 
after  week,  and  talk  twaddle,  I  shall  fall  ill.  That  is  the 
truth." 

"  Yet  there  are  some  hours  when  Mrs.  Weir  likes  to  be 
alone,"  I  ventured  to  say. 

"  May  be,  but  you  don't  understand  ;  no  one  can.  Pa- 
rents and  children,  and  brothers  and  sisters,  are  not  like 
other  people.  I  dare  say  you  think  I  am  undutiful ;  I  dare 
say  I  am." 

I  must  have  looked  shocked,  for  I  always  thought  that 
if  I  had  a  mother  living,  I  should  feel  it  such  a  pleasure  and 
an  honour  to  do  everything  for  her.  But  Miss  Milicent  was 
better  than  her  v/ord,  I  knew,  and  I  am  sure  that  her  con- 
science reproached  her,  after  she  had  spoken  in  this  off-hand 
way,  for  she  went  on,  "  You  know,  Ursie,  there's  no  one  but 
you  that  can  suit  me  and  my  mother  also,  and  it's  the  plain 
fact ;  and  if  we  can  have  you  here,  everything  will  go  well, 
and  if  we  have  not,  we  must  have  Matilda  Temple,  or  any 
one  we  can  get,  and  take  the  consequences.  And  who  is  to 
answer  for  them  ?  " 

Without  waiting  for  me  to  reply  she  went  away,  seemingly 
in  a  huff. 

This  sudden  end  to  our  conversation  was  like  a  gust  of 
wind.  It  took  up  all  my  ideas,  and  turned  them  round  as  it 
were,  till  I  did  not  know  where  I  was.  Just  for  one  moment 
I  thought  Miss  Milicent  was  right,  and  that  I  was  answer- 


URSULA.  185 

able  for  "whatever  might  happen,  if  Mrs.  Temple  stayed  aud 
I  went  away  ;  but  I  soon  saw  the  folly  of  such  an  idea.  God 
has  only  given  us  one  conscience  to  take  care  of,  and  trovible 
enough  it  is  to  keep  that  clear  of  offence.  If  I  went  my  own 
straightforward  way,  I  was  not  answerable  for  the  crooked- 
ness of  other  people's.  And  I  saw,  too,  what  Mrs.  Kemp 
had  first  put  into  my  head,  that  my  staying  only  blinded  Miss 
Milicent  more  to  her  own  duties.  I  sought  no  more  conver- 
sation, but  went  up-stairs  to  my  own  room,  and  wrote  a  letter 
to  Roger,  telling  him,  that  nothing  preventing,  I  would  be 
at  Sandcombe,  if  William  aud  Leah  could  receive  me,  that 
day  week. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

^My  stay  with  Mrs.  Weir  was  about  to  terminate  less 
pleasantly  than  I  had  expected.  I  seemed  to  have  done  but 
little  good  to  her,  and  less  to  Miss  Milicent,  and  I  knew  that 
I  left  a  snake  in  the  grass  behind  me  in  IMrs.  Temple.  Rut 
for  Mrs.  Kemp's  warning,  I  might  have  been  even  more  dis- 
appointed, but  I  was  learning  (very  slowly,  though,  for  it 
was  a  hard  lesson  to  one  of  my  disposition)  to  make  doing  my 
duty  my  object,  without  caring  for  seeing  the  fruits.  Miss 
Milicent  was  surly  when  she  found  I  was  resolved  to  go. 
Mrs.  Temple,  who  had  scarcely  noticed  me  before,  became 
suddenly  very  patronising  and  amiable,  and  poor  Mrs.  Weir, 
to  whom  I  broke  the  news  as  gently  as  I  could,  cried  a  good 
deal,  and  said  if  God  ever  made  her  rich  agaift,  she  would 
send  for  me,  and  beg  me  to  come  back  and  live  with  her  ; 
but  her  mind  was  for  the  time  finding  a  new  rest,  and  when 
the  day  of  my  departure  drew  near,  she  was  consoled  by  3Irs. 
Temple's  promise  of  staying  with  her  another  fortnight. 
Iler  conscience  indeed  was  a  little  troubled  about  Mr. 
Temple,  who,  she  said,  must  find  it  so  dull  to  be  living  there 
Avith  three  ladies  ;  but  Mrs.  Temple  assured  her,  that  solitude 
aT)d  conteujplation  were  his  delight,  and  if  it  was  so,  he  cer 
taiuly  must  have  been  in  Paradise  all  the  time  he  was  at  the 
Heath,  for  he  wandered  about  on  the  rocks  and  by  the  shore 


186  URSULA. 

all  day,  and  never  spoke  to  any  one,  except  I  believe  to  Mr. 
Perry,  the  Preventive  lieutenant.  He  was  a  meek  man  now, 
and  gifted  with  much  endurance,  whatever  he  might  have 
been  formerly.  I  never  heard  him  say  anything  in  opposition 
to  his  wife  except,  "  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  not,  my 
dear." 

On  the  day  fixed  William's  cart  was  to  be  sent  for  me 
and  my  boxes.  It  was  to  go  into  Hove  first,  and  to  come 
back  by  Compton,  so  that  I  was  not  likely  to  leave  till  the 
evening.  All  the  afternoon.  Miss  Milicent  was  in  and  out 
of  my  room,  upon  some  pretence  or  another,  talking  about  all 
kinds  of  things  in  a  rambling  way,  and  often  in  a  very  cross 
tone,  especially  prophesying  that  everything  would  go  wrong 
when  I  was  gone,  and  as  the  climax  of  evil,  declaring  that 
neither  Jenny  Dale  nor  Cotton  would  ever  know  how  to 
make  her  mother's  cofiee.  When  the  last  box  was  packed, 
and  just  going  to  be  corded,  she  brought  in  a  beautiful  large 
prayer-book,  with  a  very  clear  print.  "  There  is  no  room 
for  it,"  she  said,  as  she  put  it  down  upon  the  top  of  my 
frilled  collars. 

I  took  it  out  and  looked  at  it.  She  had  written  in  it 
"  Ursula  G-rant,"  nothing  more. 

"  Oh !  Miss  Milicent,"  I  exclaimed,  "  it  is  very  good  of 
you,  and  I  shall  value  it  so  much." 

"  I  have  crumpled  your  frills,"  she  said ;  "  you  had  better 
give  up  wearing  frills,  Ursie  Grant.  There  will  be  no  time 
for  getting  them  up  at  Sandcombe." 

"  I  don't  care  about  the  frills,"  I  replied;  "  but  if  you 
would  please.  Miss  Milicent,  to  put  your  name  in  the  book 
too,  I  should  be  greatly  obliged." 

"  I  have  put  enough  to  prevent  its  being  stolen,"  she 
said. 

I  could  get  nothing  more  from  her.  She  would  put  the 
book  into  the  box  herself,  hiding  it  underneath,  as  though 
she  was  ashamed  of  it;  and  not  allowing  me  to  say  another 
word  of  thanks. 

Fanny  came  to  tell  me  the  cart  was  ready,  and  to  heljj 
me  carry  down  my  boxes ;  but  Miss  Milicent  peeped  over 
the  stairs,  and  told  her  to  go  and  fetch  Dale, — her  mother 
wanted  me  ;  and  I  went  to  Mrs.  Weir. 


U  E  S  U  L  A  .  187 

Mrs.  Temple  was  with  her.  "  A  pleasant  afternoon  you 
have  for  your  drive,  Ursula;"  she  said,  before  Mrs.  Weir 
could  speak ;  "  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  it !  " 

"  Thank  you.  Ma'am,"  was  all  my  reply  ;  it  always  made 
me  feel  cross  when  she  called  me  Ursula,  though  I  dou't 
know  what  other  name  she  could  well  have  given  me. 

"I  had  a  commission  to  be  executed  in  Hatton;  "  she 
continued,  "  and  I  felt  sure  that  you  would  be  glad  to  attend 
to  it  for  me.  The  Compton  carpenter  charges  more  than  I 
think  right  for  the  little  workframe  he  made  for  me  the  other 
day ;  and  I  wished  you  to  see  the  other  man, — I  forget  his 
name, — at  Ilatton,  and  inquire  what  he  would  do  the  same 
for;  I  shall  not  pay  more  than  he  sa3"S." 

"  The  frame  cost  eighteen  pence,  I  believe,  Ma'am,"  I 
said. 

''  Yes,  and  it  ought  to  have  been  only  fifteen.  I  could 
have  had  it  made  for  fifteen  at  home  ;  but  these  country 
people  are  very  exorbitant,  and  it  is  not  right  to  encourage 
them,  dear  aunt,  is  it  ?  "  and  she  addressed  Mrs.  Weir. 

"  I  dare  say  not,  my  dear.  I  generally  give  what  they 
ask,  but  then  I  am  not  a  person  of  business." 

"  It  was  Smithson  who  made  the  frame,  I  think.  Ma'am," 
I  said. 

"  Yes,  Smithson  I  believe  was  the  name." 

'•  He  is  very  poor,  and  not  a  very  good  workman,"  I 
continued,  "  and  I  think.  Ma'am,  you  had  the  frame  taken 
back  twice." 

Mrs.  Temple's  black  eyes  flashed  as  they  did  the  first 
night  I  ever  saw  her. 

"  Is  that  Smithson,  whose  wife  had  twins  last  week  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Weir. 

"  Yes,  Ma'am  ;  and  Miss  Milicent,  if  you  remember,  sent 
her  some  gruel,     llis  girl  goes  to  Compton  school." 

"  I  remember.  Pray,  Ursula,  take  care " — but  poor 
Mrs.  Weir  stopped  short,  and  I  saw  a  tear  in  her  eye  ;  "  you 
are  going  away,  Ursula,  I  must  not  trouble  you.  Matilda,  I 
should  like  Milicent  to  see  what  the  poor  woman  wants.  It 
must  be  a  great  trial  to  have  two  babies  at  a  time." 

"  Certainly,  dear  aunt.  I  have  no  doubt  that  Milicent 
will  do  all  that  is  necessary,  if  it  is  a  deserving  case ;  but 


188  URSULA. 

the  man,  I  should  fear,  is  not  honest.  However,  I  will  not 
trouble  Ursula  Grant  to  make  inquiries  for  me  about  him ; 
I  forgot  that  I  was  speaking  to  a  person  who  took  care  to 
inform  me,  the  first  night  I  saw  her,  that  she  was  not  Mrs. 
Weir's  servant." 

There  was  a  little  red  spot  upon  Mrs.  Weir's  cheek, 
burning  and  increasing.  Her  eyes  turned  uneasily  from  one 
to  the  other ;  I  don't  think  anything  ever  so  perplexed  her 
as  anger.  Mrs.  Temple  rose  haughtily  ;  I  think  she  fancied 
I  was  going  to  reply,  and  that  she  should  put  me  down  ;  but 
I  merely  said  to  Mrs.  Weir,  "Dear  Ma'am,  the  cart  is  come; 
I  think,  if  you  please,  I  must  go." 

"  Perhaps,  Matilda,  if  you  would  not  mind, — I  think  I 
should  like  to  speak  to  Ursula  alone." 

Mrs.  Temple  said  not  a  word,  but  walked  out  of  the 
room,  like  a  tragedy  queen,  I  was  going  to  say,  only  I  never 
saw  one,  though  I  have  heard  people  talk  of  them. 

Mrs.  Weir  held  my  hands  fast  in  hers,  not  even  trying  to 
speak  ;  but  the  tears  coursing  each  other  down  her  face. 

"  I  must  come  over  again,  and  see  you  very  soon,  Ma'am," 
I  said. 

"  Yes,  you  are  not  going  away  far,  I  desire  to  remember 
that.  But,  Ursula,  I  won't  keep  you ;  do  you  think  you 
could  sit  down?  "  It  was  one  of  her  little  fancies,  that  she 
could  not  bear  to  see  any  one  standing;  it  gave  her  the 
notion  of  hurry.  I  sat  down.  She  pointed  to  an  Indian  box 
on  her  work-table.  "  I  wished  to  show  you  before  3^011  went ; 
I  have  chosen  my  things  for  Mrs.  Temple's  charity.  I 
asked  Milicent  to  look  at  them,  but  she  said  there  were 
enough  without  them.  But  I  desire  to  give  them,  Ursula. 
God  gave  them  to  me,  and  I  should  like  to  give  them  back 
to  Him." 

I  brought  the  box  to  her,  and  she  unlocked  it,  took  the 
things  out,  one  by  one,  and  ranged  them  in  order  upon  the 
table.  They  were  nearly  all  foreign,  and  mostly  Indian; 
and  some  of  them  so  delicate,  that  it  seemed  as  though  any 
other  fingers  than  Mrs.  Weir's  would  have  been  unable  to 
handle  them.  Particularly  I  remember  a  little  chess-board 
of  carved  ivory,  with  the  tiniest  set  of  chessmen  that  can  be 
imagined  standing  upon  it.     It  had  been  sent  her  only  a  few 


URSULA,  189 

months  before ;  and  she  had  taken  the  trouble  herself  to 
fasten  the  little  figures  upon  the  board  with  gum.  It  used 
to  stand  upon  the  table  at  Dene,  with  a  glass  case  over  it ; 
but  I  had  not  seen  it  since  we  came  to  the  cottage. 

She  looked  at  her  pretty  things  as  a  child  might  have 
done,  when  they  were  all  put  before  her.  Just  for  the  mo- 
ment she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  they  were  to  be 
parted  with. 

"  Perhaps  they  will  not  be  wanted,  Ma'am,"  I  ventured 
to  say  ;  for  I  felt  quite  a  silly  dislike  to  her  giving  them 
away. 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Ursula  ?  "  She  seemed  pained  at  the 
notion.  "  Mrs.  Temple  says  they  will  make  her  stall  very 
beautiful." 

"  I  dare  say  they  will.  Ma'am,"  I  answered,  shortly. 

"  And  it  ought  not  to  be  a  sacrifice  to  me,"  she  con- 
tinued. "  They  are  very  little  things  ;  I  do  not  know  why  I 
liked  them  so  much." 

It  Avas  upon  my  lips  to  say  that  I  should  not  care  what 
was  done  with  them,  if  they  were  to  go  for  a  good  object ; 
but  I  stopped  myself, — God  looks  at  motives,  not  objects. 
No  doubt  in  His  sight  it  was  a  holy  ofiering.  I  could  not 
take  upon  myself  to  cast  a  doubt  into  Mrs.  Weir's  mind, 
though  in  my  heart  I  felt  that  I  could  have  seen  the  things 
thrown  into  the  sea,  rather  than  put  into  Mrs.  Temple's 
bauds,  to  give  her  the  opportunity  of  making  a  show  without 
expense. 

"  And  you  think  they  arc  enough,  Ursula  ?  "  added  Mrs. 
Weir,  simply. 

"  Quite,  Ma'am,"  I  said.  "  I  don't  know  how  Mrs. 
Temple  will  contrive  to  take  them." 

"  yVnd  I  shall  learn  to  do  without  them,"  she  continued. 
"  Mrs.  Temple  has  written  out  a  text  for  me,  Ursula,  and  I 
have  put  it  in  my  work-box,  that  I  may  remember  to  try  and 
iiot  care  for  all  which  I  have  cared  for.  She  has  made  it  very 
pretty;  it  is  illuminated." 

I  could  scarcely  help  smiling.  The  poor  lady's  taste  for 
pretty  things  was  so  strong,  in  spite  of  all  she  did  to  over- 
come it.  Mrs.  Temple  had  written  the  text  upon  perforated 
card-board,  and  the  capital  letters  were  coloured. 


190  U  E  S  U  L  A  . 

The  words  were,  "  We  brought  nothing  into  this  world, 
and  it  is  certain  we  can  carry  nothing  out ;  and  having  food 
and  raiment,  let  us  be  therewith  content."  I  returned  the 
text,  merely  saying,  that  I  wished  we  could  all  remember 
it ;  it  might  save  us  a  great  deal  of  anxiety.  It  did  not 
strike  me  till  afterwards  what  a  wonderful  power  God  has 
given  to  simple  earnestness  of  heart.  Mrs.  Weir  was  like 
the  bee,  she  could  only  extract  honey  even  from  intercourse 
with  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Temple. 

"  And  you  must  go  now,  Ursula,"  she  said,  as  I  went  up 
to  her,  after  putting  the  carved  box  back  into  its  place. 

"  Yes,  dear  Ma'am,  I  think  I  must.  I  know  my  brother 
would  rather  the  cart  should  not  be  kept." 

"  And  you  will  see  Mr.  Grant  at  Sandcombe,  I  suppose. 
That  will  make  you  happy." 

My  heart  was  too  full  for  a  reply.  Mrs.  Weir  continued, 
•'  I  wish  you  to  be  happy,  Ursula.  I  pray  God  to  make  you 
so.  You  have  not  been  able  to  make  me  hajDpy,  but  you 
have  comforted  me." 

"  Not  so  much  as  you  have  comforted  me.  Ma'am,"  I 
said.  "  You  have  taught  me  things  which  I  shall  remember 
all  my  life." 

She  clasped  her  little  thin  hands  together.  "  God  be 
thanked  for  it,  Ursula.  I  had  a  hope  once  that  I  should  live 
actively  to  His  glory ;  but  now  I  can  only  '  stand  and  wait.' 
I  should  like  to  ask  you  to  mention  my  name  in  your  prayers, 
— only  you  will  have  so  many  to  think  of." 

I  caught  hold  of  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  ever  forget  it,  dear  Ma'am  ?  "  I 
said.  "  But  I  don't  like  to  think  I  am  going  away.  I  shall 
hope  to  come  and  see  you  very  often ;  and  you  must  always 
tell  me  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

"  I  thank  you,  Ursula ;  I  know  I  may  depend  upon  you. 
But  Mrs.  Temple  says  that  I  have  accustomed  myself  to 
lean  upon  you  too  much." 

I  believe  I  gave  an  angry  start.  Mrs.  Weir  did  not 
notice  it.  "I  have  a  little  book,"  she  continued,  "  which  I 
should  wish  you  to  keep  for  my  sake  ;  it  is  '  Bishop  Wilson's 
Sacra  Privata.'  Mrs.  Temple  recommended  another,  but  I 
was  not  sure  you  would  like  it.     I  am  afraid  I  vexed  her  by 


URSULA.  191 

choosing  this ;  but  you  have  often  read  part  of  it  to  me,  and 
so  I  thought  it  would  help  you  to  remember  me." 

She  put  into  my  hands  a  tiny  book,  bound  in  purple  mo- 
rocco, quite  plain,  except  that  the  edges  were  gilt.  My  name 
was  written  in  it, — "  Ursula  Grant,  from  her  sincere  friend, 
Margaret  Weir," — and  beneath,  that  text  from  the  First 
Epistle  of  St.  Peter, — "  But  the  God  of  all  grace,  who  hath 
called  you  unto  His  eternal  glory  by  Christ  Jesus,  after  that 
ye  have  suffered  a  while,  make  you  perfect,  stablish,  strength- 
en, settle  you."  The  words  "  after  ye  have  suffered  awhile  " 
were  underlined. 

Mrs.  Weir  pointed  to  them.  "  I  would  not  have  you 
without  suffering,  Ursula,"  she  said.  "  It  is  the  highway  to 
the  peace  that  passeth  understanding.     God  bless  you." 

It  was  all  I  could  do  not  to  break  down,  but  I  thanked 
her  in  few  words  and  a  troubled  voice,  and  left  her  with  a 
heart  full  of  love ;  yet  fearing,  lest  with  Mrs.  Temple  by 
her  side,  she  might  one  day  cease  to  care  for  me. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

I  EXPECTED  to  meet  Ptoger  at  Sandcombe,  and  yet  I 
could  think  of  Mrs.  Weir.  That  was,  I  suppose,  partly  be- 
cause I  always  had  lived  so  much  in  the  present  moment ; 
but  it  was  partly  also  because  I  had  forced  myself  of  late  to 
turn  away  from  the  recollection  of  Roger,  and  to  think  of 
life  for  a  time  without  him.  If  I  had  done  otherwise  I  should 
have  been  too  unhappy  to  attend  to  my  daily  duties.  The 
trials  of  life  are,  I  believe,  after  all,  very  much  what  we 
choose  to  make  them.  It  was  a  kind  of  instinct  with  me  to 
take  every  one  as  it  came,  and  twist  and  turn  it,  till  I  saw  it 
in  the  point  of  view  which  made  it  most  bearable.  I  have 
sometimes  fancied  that  untoward  events  are  like  those  curious 
padlocks  formed  of  rings  of. brass,  with  separate  letters  en- 
graven upon  them ;  when  the  rings  are  all  turned  properly, 
so  that  the  letters  form  a  certain  word,  the  key  goes  through 
easily ;  but  till  this  is  done,  one  may  try  forever  and  not  bo 
able  to  unfasten  the  padlock.     Perhaps  the  word  which  all 


192  URSULA. 

human  trials  are  intended  to  form  is  Faith,  for  by  that  alone 
the  mysteries  of  God's  Providence  are  unlocked. 

At  any  rate,  I  know  that  I  could  never  go  on  fretting 
about  anything,  however  painful ;  and,  when  once  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  that  Roger  and  I  were  to  be  parted  for  a 
year,  I  said  to  myself,  "  It  is  God's  Will,  for  some  good  pur- 
pose, to  take  from  me  for  a  while  the  greatest  happiness  I 
have ;  but  He  has  left  me  a  good  many  blessings  still,  and 
so,  instead  of  grieving  over  what  I  can't  have,  I  will  make 
the  best  of  what  I  have." 

I  don't  mean  to  say,  however,  that  I  could  do  all  this  at 
once.  Many  and  many  a  struggle  did  I  go  through  with  the 
yearning  for  the  old  times,  or  the  dread  of  the  new  ones  ;  and 
even  that  afternoon  as  I  drove  away  from  Compton  Heath, 
and  drew  near  to  Sandcombe,  all  the  slumbering  anxieties 
and  sorrows  seemed  to  rouse  themselves  up  to  depress  me. 

In  a  future  state  of  existence,  it  will,  no  doubt,  be  very 
pleasant  to  go  from  one  star  to  another,  and  see  what  the 
different  inhabitants  are  like.  Where  there  is  no  sin  there 
will  be  no  sorrow.  But  in  this  evil  world,  where  a  sudden 
change  in  a  home  often  means  only  a  turning  from  troubles 
of  one  kind  to  those  of  another,  such  a  move  comes  to  one 
with  a  kind  of  shock. 

The  cart  drove  into  the  yard,  and  there  I  saw  Roger  and 
William  standing  together.  I  jumped  out  before  the  man 
could  help  me,  and  ran  up  to  them. 

"  What,  Ursie  ?  How  d'ye  do  ?  "  said  William,  good- 
naturedly.     "  You  are  rather  late,  aren't  you  ?  " 

Roger  kissed  me  very  hard  on  both  cheeks,  but  said 
nothing.  They  went  on  talking  about  some  alteration  in  the 
farm.  Leah  was  gone  in  the  chaise  to  Hatton,  and  was  not 
returned  ;  so  I  went  up-stairs  to  my  room,  and  unpacked  my 
boxes,  and  put  my  things  away  in  the  drawers.  Stupidly 
enough,  I  had  forgotten  that  I  should  not  be  at  Sandcombe 
in  time  for  tea  ;  and  now  I  should  have  to  wait  for  supper, 
unless  William  thought  of  offei-ing  me  anything.  I  dare  say 
people  would  call  that  very  strange  and  silly,  and  inquire 
why  I  did  not  ask  for  some  tea  in  my  brother's  house ;  and 
I  can  give  no  reason  except  that  anything  which  put  the 
Sandcombe  household  out  of  its  regular  way  of  going  on  was 


URSULA.  193 

a  trouble.  You  might  ask,  and  have,  but  you  were  certain 
to  be  reminded  of  it  afterwards ;  and  if  Leah  had  come 
home  and  found  me  at  tea,  she  would  have  been  sure  to  say 
in  the  course  of  the  evening  that  something  or  another  was 
left  undone,  because  Martha  had  been  obliged  to  get  Ursie's 
tea ;  and  this,  though  I  had  put  on  the  kettle,  and  cut  the 
bread  and  butter  for  myself. 

Putting  my  things  away  took  a  long  time ;  after  that  I 
thought  I  would  sit  down  and  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible, 
which  would  make  me  feel  more  homelike  and  natural  than 
anything  else  ;  but  I  had  no  time,  for  Roger  knocked  at  my 
door,  and,  of  coui-se,  I  was  only  too  glad  to  bid  him  come  in, 
and  hear  all  he  had  to  say. 

He  was  in  excellent  spirits,  seeing  everything  so  hope- 
fully, that  he  made  me  hopeful  too.  Mr.  Richardson's  friend 
had  smoothed  the  way  for  him,  and  his  good  character  had 
gone  before  him.  He  had  received  an  offer  which  would 
n\ake  all  easy.  It  was  proposed  to  him  to  accompany  a  gen- 
tleman, named  Pierce,  who  was  going  out  to  Canada  on  his 
own  account ;  he  was  to  stay  with  him  for  six  months  at 
least,  and  help  him  in  his  first  setting  off,  and  thus  he  would 
have  time  to  look  about  him,  and  decide  as  to  whether  he 
should  finally  settle  in  the  country.  This  plan  satisfied  Wil- 
liam, because  it  did  not  require  such  an  outlay  of  money  at 
the  present  time,  and  Roger  was  quite  willing  to  take  things 
quietly,  and  not  be  an  independent  man  all  at  once ;  he  had 
managed  the  greater  part  of  his  business,  and  the  little  that 
remained  was  to  be  done  by  John  Hervey,  who  was  forced 
to  go  up  to  London  the  next  week.  The  ship  was  to  sail  in 
about  a  fortnight's  time.  For  myself  I  confess  the  idea  that 
his  plans  were  only  settled  for  six  months  was  a  great  relief. 
At  the  end  of  that  time  something  might  happen  to  bring 
him  back, — who  knew  ?  At  any  rate  the  definite  time  was  a 
limit  beyond  which  I  felt  I  was  not  permitted  to  look. 

We  talked  on  so  long  about  Canada  that  I  did  not  think 
of  putting  in  a  word  about  Mrs.  "Weir,  but  Roger  was  very 
unlike  most  people  in  one  respect.  Instead  of  conversing  as 
so  many  do  only  about  what  interests  themselves,  and  because 
others  listen  and  appear  interested,  fancying  they  have  been 
very  kind  and  agreeable,  and  never  asking  a  question  or  giv- 
VoL.  1—9 


194  URSULA. 

ing  a  thought  in  return,  Roger  gave  what  he  took,  and  be- 
cause I  liked  to  hear  what  he  had  been  doing,  he  liked  to 
hear  what  I  had  been  doing. 

"  Now,  Trot,"  he  said,  when  there  was  a  pause,  "you 
have  had  my  say,  let  me  have  yours.  How  has  the  world 
gone  with  you  ?  " 

"  Pretty  well,"  I  said,  "  but  I  don't  think,  Roger,  the 
world  misses  me  much.  Mrs.  Weir  has  taken  up  with  her 
niece,  and  so  she  could  well  spare  me." 

"  If  it's  Mrs.  Temple  you  mean,"  he  replied,  "  Mrs.  Weir 
won't  be  friends  with  her  long ;  at  least,  if  what  John  Her- 
vey  says  is  true." 

"  Mrs.  Weir  is  easily  imposed  upon,"  I  said,  "  and  Mrs. 
Temple  can  talk  good,  and  I  can't.  Besides  she  is  a  lady, 
and  her  relation ;  only  I  should  like  to  think  that  all  the 
things  I  am  sure  will  be  said  of  me  behind  my  back  would 
not  be  believed." 

"  You  will  be  in  Canada  with  me,  Trot,  soon,  and  then 
we  shan't  either  of  us  care  what  any  one  says  of  us." 

I  knew  that  I  should  care.  If  I  were  to  go  to  Canada, 
or  to  the  other  side  of  the  globe,  and  to  feel  certain  of  never 
setting  foot  in  England  again,  I  should  care.  But  Roger's 
thought  just  then  was  that  Canada  was  a  cure  for  all  evils. 

"  I  am  thankful  you  are  staying  here,  Ursie,"  he  con- 
tinued ;  "  it  is  best  to  be  with  relations.  After  all,  they  are 
more  to  be  depended  on,  and  William  talks  very  kindly 
about  you." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  but  perhaps  it  is  more  safe  to  reckon 
upon  myself  for  comfort  than  upon  William  or  any  one. 
That  is  not  wrong,  I  hope,  Roger." 

He  looked  grave.  "  It  now  and  then  strikes  me,  Ursie, 
that  you  have  something  to  learn  in  this  world,"  he  said. 
"  But  so  we  all  have  for  that  matter.  And  you  are  a  bravo 
girl." 

"  You  mean,  I  trust  to  myself,"  I  said;  "  but  whom  have 
I  else  to  trust  to,  Roger  ?     Putting  aside  religion,  I  mean." 

"  No,  you  will  make  your  way  anyhow." 

"  What  do  you  mean  '?  "  I  asked. 

"  Nothing,  Trot,  nothing.  That's  Leah's  voice,  isn't  it? 
and  whom  has  she  with  her  ?  " 


URSULA.  195 

I  knewjlbr  I  bad  seen  the  chaise  drive  up  with  Leah 
and  Jessie  Lee. 

Roger  opened  the  door  and  listened.  "  She  has  brought 
back  little  Jessie,"  he  said,  thoughtfully.  "  I  was  going  to 
say  something  to  you  about  lier.     I'm  glad  she  is  come." 

"  It  is  more  than  I  am,"  I  replied,  "  I  wanted  to  have 
you  all  to  myself,  and  now  I  must  go  and  talk  to  her." 

Hoger  and  I  went  out  into  the  passage  together. 

Leah  and  Jessie  were  talking  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
and  the  next  minute  Jessie's  light  step  was  heard  as  she  ran 
up  two  stairs  at  a  time.  She  pushed  against  Roger,  by  an 
accident,  when  she  reached  the  top,  and  stumbled.  When 
she  saw  him  she  burst  into  one  of  her  pretty,  merry  laughs. 
"  Oh !  Mr.  Roger,"  she  said,  "  you  frightened  me.  I 
thought  you  were  a  giant." 

"  I  never  meant  to  frighten  you,"  he  said,  "  but  you  are 
so  giddy,  Jessie,  You  run  without  thinking  where  you  are 
^oing." 

"  Very  likely,"  she  replied,  "  I  know  it  is  always  my 
own  fault,  whatever  happens.  But,  Mr.  Roger,"  and  she 
looked  up  at  him  with  a  pleasant  smile,  "  what  business 
have  you  here  ?  " 

"  Ursie  !  "  called  out  Leah,  several  times,  from  the  foot 
of  the  stairs.  Her  voice  sounded  to  me  like  the  croaking  of 
a  raven ;  it  quite  drowned  what  Roger  was  saying. 

"  I  am  here,"  I  said ;  "  do  you  want  me  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  was  coming  up ;  but  I'm  so  tired.  Just  let 
Jessie  put  her  bonnet  and  shawl  in  your  room,  will  you  ? 
Have  you  settled  yourself?     Supper's  nearly  ready." 

I  was  heartily  glad  to  hear  it,  for  I  was  very  hungr}'. 
"  You  will  go  down  and  speak  to  Leah,  won't  you  ?  "  said 
Roger ;  and  he  stood  rather  aside  for  me  to  pass. 

I  did  not  feel  in  the  least  inclined,  but  I  saw  he  wished 
it,  so  I  just  kissed  Jessie  and  told  her  to  go  into  my  room, 
and  down-stairs  I  went. 

"  I  was  sorry  to  be  out  when  you  came,  Ursie,"  said  Leah, 
as  she  threw  aside  a  handsome  silk  cloak,  which  she  always 
Avrapped  round  her  when  she  went  in  the  chaise,  ''  but  I 
was  obliged  to  see  about  our  new  washerwoman;  I  don't 
want  to  be  washing  more  than  once  in  six  weeks,  now  you 
are  come,  and  I  can  put  things  in  better  order." 


196  URSULA. 

"  Oh  !  "  I  replied.  I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but  I  felt 
so  unwilling  to  be  mixed  up  as  one  with  Leah  in  her  house- 
hold concerns. 

"  Jessie  is  to  sleep  here  to-night,"  said  Leah.  "  I  told 
her  I  was  sure  she  could  have  part  of  your  bed,  if  the  spare 
attic  wasn't  ready,  and  I  don't  think  it  is ;  and,  besides,  it  is 
not  worth  while  to  have  the  bed  in  the  attic  made  up  just  for 
one  night," 

"  Supper,  my  good  woman  !  Supper !  "  William  came 
out  of  the  parlour  and  clapped  Leah  on  the  shoulder. 

She  gathered  up  her  cloak.  "  Ursie,  if  you  don't  mind, 
you  can  just  take  this  up-stairs.  I  shall  go  and  see  about 
supper." 

"  And  come  down  directly,"  said  William  to  me ;  "  don't 
stay  gossiping  with  Jessie.     I  am  as  hungry  as  a  hunter." 

Up-stairs  I  went  again.  Jessie  had  not  moved  from  her 
place,  nor  Roger  from  his.  Jessie  looked  ashamed  of  her- 
self I  thought  they  must  have  touched  upon  some  serious 
matter,  for  I  heard  Jessie  say,  "  I  can't  be  always  working 
and  thinking  like  Ursie,  Mr.  Koger,  to  please  any  one."  She 
spoke  a  little  pettishly,  and  not  quite  so  simply  as  was  her 
wont.  Roger  had  a  very  kind  smile  upon  his  face.  He 
always  seemed  to  look  upon  Jessie  as  a  spoilt  child,  and  he 
said,  "  You  know,  Jessie,  it  is  not  for  me  to  find  fault,  only  I 
disliked  to  hear  it  said,  and  so,  as  I  was  going  away  for  so 
long,  I  thought  I  would  e'en  tell  you  myself" 

Jessie  looked  so  put  out  as  she  followed  me  into  my  room 
that  I  could  not  help  asking  her  what  was  the  matter.  She 
avoided  answering  at  first.  "It  was  nothing,"  she  said; 
"  people  were  very  cross ;  they  had  no  right  to  say  such 
things,  and  Mr.  Roger  was  very  unkind  to  believe  them." 

"  Then  there  is  something,"  I  replied.  "  You  had  better 
tell  me,  Jessie,  and  if  Roger  is  wrong,  I  can  put  him  right." 

"  It  was  not  half  as  bad  as  he  declared,"  she  exclaimed ; 
"  the  girls  in  Hove  do  much  worse,  and  that  he  knows,  and 
you  know  too." 

"I  don't  know,"  I  said,  '-'for  you  have  not  told  me  what 
you  did." 

"  Miss  Shaw  and  Captain  Price  were  there,"  continued 
Jessie,  tossing  her  head  pettishly;  "  and  if  they  saw  nothing 


URSULA.  197 

wrong,  I  don't  see  -what  business  other  folks  have  to  find 
fault." 

"  But  what  is  it  ?  what  is  it  ?  "  I  felt  provoked  with 
her,  though  I  tried  not  to  show  it. 

"  It  is  Mr.  John  Hervey's  tale,  I  am  certain,"  exclaimed 
Jessie.     "  He  is  always  sp3^ing." 

"  Really,  Jessie,"  I  replied,  "  I  can't  stand  here  all  night 
in  this  senseless  way  ;  if  you  really  don't  choose  to  explain, 
I  must  needs  leave  you  and  go  down  to  supper." 

Jessie  was  very  much  inclined  to  cry,  but  when  she  saw 
that,  instead  of  attending  to  her,  I  was  going  towards  the 
door,  she  pulled  me  back;  "Miss  Shaw  and  Captain  Price 
were  in  the  shop,"  she  said,  and  the  two  oflBcers  were  their 
friends,  and  I  only  talked  and  laughed  a  little.  Miss  Shaw 
talked  a  great  deal  the  loudest." 

"  The  old  complaint !  "  I  said,  rather  shortly.  "  Jane 
Shaw  will  make  herself  noticed  wherever  she  goes,  and  if  you 
will  go  about  with  her,  Jessie,  you  must  expect  the  same. 
Was  that  all  Eoger  had  to  say  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  that  Mrs.  Deer,  the  stationer's  wife,  had 
talked  to  him  about  it,  and  said  that  if  I  didn't  take  care  I 
should  get  myself  a  bad  name.  But  Mrs.  Deer  is  envious  of 
Jane  Shaw,  that  I  know.  Jane  told  me  so  herself  Hetty 
Deer  vfas  at  the  race  ball,  and  Captain  Price  danced  with 
her,  and  so  Mrs.  Deer  thought  there  was  a  chance  for  her, 
and  now  she  is  disappointed." 

"  That  may  or  mayn't  be,  Jessie,"  I  replied.  "  One 
thing  is  quite  clear,  that  Eoger  has  heard  your  name  men- 
tioned in  a  way  he  doesn't  like,  and  being  an  old  friend,  he 
did  quite  right  to  tell  you  of  it,  and  if  you  will  take  my 
advice,  you  will  give  heed  to  the  warning,  and  not  go  into 
Hove  again  with  Jane  Shaw,  or  any  of  her  set.  You  know, 
Jessie,  because  you  are  left  so  much  to  j'ourself,  there  is  the 
more  reason  for  you  to  be  careful." 

Jessie's  little  fit  of  temper  was  over  when  she  had  given 
it  vent.  She  still  held  my  gown  and  said,  "Don't  go,  I'rsic  ; 
I  am  very  unhappy,  and  Mr.  Roger  thinks  so  ill  of  mc." 

"  No,  indeed !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  It  is  not  in  Roger's  way 
to  think  ill  of  any  person,  much  less  of  one  he  has  known 
like  you,  Jessie,  from  a  baby.  But  no  doubt  he  is  very  par- 
ticular as  to  the  ways  of  those  he  is  interested  in,  and  that 


198  U  K  S  U  L  A. 

may  make  him  speak  out  more  strongly  than  seems  quite 
kind." 

"I  do  mean  to  be  careful,"  sobbed  Jessie;  "you  know, 
Ursie,  I  never  go  on  in  that  fashion  when  I  am  with  you ; 
and  I  want  to  be  steady,  indeed  I  do ;  and  I  only  went  to 
Hove  with  Miss  Shaw  because  she  begged  so  hard,  and  I 
thought  it  was  the  only  chance  I  might  have  of  seeing  about 
a  dress  for  the  wedding." 

"  If  you  girls  don't  come  down  to  supper,  there  will  be 
none  for  you,"  cried  out  William  from  the  passage  below. 
Jessie  washed  her  face,  and  dried  her  eyes,  and  went  to  the 
glass  to  smooth  her  hair,  staying  longer  than  I  thought  ne- 
cessary ;  so  I  left  her  there,  and  went  down  alone. 

Roger  just  looked  up  from  his  plate,  when  I  entered,  and 
not  seeing  Jessie,  ate  his  supper  in  silence.  I  could  discover 
from  his  troubled  face  that  it  had  cost  him  a  good  deal  to  say 
what  might  have  seemed  an  unkind  word  to  the  poor  little 
motherless  thing,  but  she  quite  needed  it. 

I  forget  exactly  what  passed  at  supper-time.  I  know  it 
was  a  great  effort  to  me  to  talk  to  Leah,  and  that  Roger 
scarcely  spoke,  and  Jessie  looked  as  shy  as  a  frightened  bird. 
We  were  not  any  of  us  natural,  but  we  did  not  understand 
each  other,  and  so  how  could  we  be  natural? 

There  was  never  much  time  between  supper  and  going 
to  bed,  but  I  longed  to  have  Roger  alone,  and  find  out  what 
was  really  the  matter  about  Jessie ;  and  it  happened  that  I 
had  the  opportunity,  for  Leah  took  advantage  of  having 
Jessie  there  to  send  the  maid  to  bed  early,  and  she  and  Jessie 
carried  away  the  supper  things,  and  then  staid  some  time 
talking  in  the  kitchen,  and  William  went  away  too  ;  and  so 
Roger  and  I  were  left  to  ourselves. 

Roger  entered  upon  the  subject  directly;  "  Jessie  told 
you  what  I  said  to  her.  Trot,"  he  began. 

"  Yes ;  she  told  me  in  her  way,  which  is  no  way,  at  least 
as  far  as  understanding  goes.  I  could  make  neither  head  nor 
tail  of  it.     Why  didn't  you  speak  to  me  first,  Roger  ?  " 

He  laughed.  "  Put  a  woman  to  scold  a  woman !  you 
would  know  better  than  that,  Ursie,  if  you  were  a  man." 

"  But  what  was  the  mischief  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No  mischief,"  he  answered,  with  a  flash  in  bis  eye,  as 
though  he  were  angry  with  the  word.   "  But  Hove  people  are 


URSULA.  199 

not  very  careful  of  what  they  say,  and  Jessie  doesn't  think. 
JMrs.  Deer  heard  a  great  noise,  laughing  and  talking,  in  Hale's 
sliop.  Jane  Shaw,  and  Captain  Price,  and  a  party  of  oificers, 
were  there  having  luncheon.  Jessie  was  there  too.  Mrs. 
Deer  said  she  made  more  noise  than  any,  and  that  people 
stopped  as  they  went  by  to  listen,  and  that  some  one  had  heard 
one  of  the  officers  call  her  Jessie,  and  that  she  laughed  and 
seemed  to  like  it.  I  don't  believe  that ;  but  any  how  it  was 
not  what  I  liked  to  hear ;  and  it's  no  use  saying  anything  to 
old  Mrs.  Morris,  and  less  talking  to  Leah,  and  so  I  thought 
tliat  perhaps  Jessie  wouldn't  take  it  amiss  from  an  old  friend, 
if  I  gave  her  a  word  of  warning  myself.  You  know,  Ursie, 
I  am  going  away,  and  not  likely  to  see  her  again.  But  I 
dare  say  I  was  wrong,  women  don't  like  being  talked  to." 

"  Whether  they  like  it  or  not  they  must  bear  it,  if  they 
need  it,"  I  replied.  "  But  I  don't  think,  Roger,  you  were 
quite  the  person  to  speak." 

"  Likely  enough  ;  but —  "  he  stopped  a  moment,  "  it  was 
so  on  my  mind,  it  came  out  almost  before  I  was  aware,  and 
now,  I  suppose,  she  won't  forgive  or  forget." 

"  Don't  fear  that,"  I  said ;  "  she  is  only  a  silly  child,  and 
quite  accustomed  to  be  scolded." 

He  shut  up  suddenly;  all  his  answer  was,  "Well!  it 
can't  be  lielpcd,"  and  then  he  took  a  candle  to  go  to  bed. 

I  had  felt  cross  when  Leah  first  proposed  that  Jessie 
should  sleep  in  my  room.  It  was  taking  things  for  granted 
in  a  way  I  did  not  like ;  but,  as  it  happened,  I  was  glad  of 
it  afterwards,  for  it  gave  me  the  opportunity  of  a  little  more 
talk  with  Jessie.  There  is  no  time  like  night  for  a  free  con- 
versation. Jessie  and  I  said  little  to  each  other  as  we  were 
undressing,  but  when  the  candle  was  out  I  took  courage,  and 
told  her  what  had  passed  between  me  and  Roger,  and  how 
he  was  afraid  she  was  angry  and  would  not  forgive ;  but,  I 
added,  that  for  my  part,  1  could  not  sec  what  cause  he  had 
to  ask  for  forgiveness.  I  felt  lie  had  acted  like  a  true  friend, 
thougli,  perhaps,  lie  might  have  been  a  little  sudden  in  his 
way  of  introducing  the  subject ;  and  tlien  I  went  on  to  give 
her  some  more  cautions  for  the  future,  telling  her  how  spe- 
cially needful  it  was  for  girls,  left  as  we  were,  never  to  give 
occasion  for  an  unkind  word.     "  Roger  would  stand  by  you. 


200  URSULA. 

Jessie,"  I  said,  "  through  thick  and  thin,  and  so  would  I ; 
but  you  won't  find  many  to  do  it,  especially  amongst  the 
persons  whose  company  you  think  so  much  of  now." 

She  caught  up  my  words  quickly,  and  answered  that  she 
knew  I  had  a  bad  opinion  of  the  Shaws ;  but  I  knew  nothing 
of  them,  and  no  one  had  ever  been  able  to  find  any  real  harm 
in  them. 

"  As  to  real  harm,"  I  replied,  "  it  would  be  dreadful  in- 
deed if  things  were  to  come  to  that  pass.  But  that  is  look- 
ing at  matters  only  as  men  and  women  look  at  them.  There 
may  be  many  things  that  we  count  trifles,  which  yet  are  real 
harm  in  the  sight  of  God." 

"  You  have  lived  so  much  with  set-up  ladies  and 
grand  people,"  said  Jessie,  "  that  you  are  over  particular, 
Ursie.  How  can  a  merry  girl  like  me  be  expected  to  sail 
about  stiffly,  and  never  speak  above  a  whisper  ?  " 

"  You  turn  ofi"so,  Jessie,"  I  replied,  "  but  you  know  quite 
well  what  I  mean.  It  is  not  the  laughing  and  talking  in 
proper  places,  and  with  proper  people,  that  any  one  finds 
fault  with.  But  Captain  Price's  gay  friends  are  not  your 
friends ;  they  are  not  in  your  station,  and  there  is  the  dan- 
ger. When  people  are  all  equal  they  can  have  little  friendly 
jokes,  and  no  harm  may  come  of  it.  But  what  would  be 
very  kind  in  Roger,  or  William,  or  John  Hervey,  would  be 
a  liberty  in  one  of  Captain  Price's  idle  set ;  and,  Jessie,  Mrs. 
Weir  once  said  to  me,  and  I  wish  to  my  heart  you  could  re- 
member it,  that  the  mere  fact  of  being  a  woman  gives  one  a 
claim  to  respect ;  that  it  is  a  kind  of  natural  rank  which  even 
the  beggar-girl  in  the  street  possesses,  as  long  as  she  conducts 
herself  modestly  and  decently ;  and  she  told  me  that  the 
least  freedom  of  manner  from  a  person  above  my  own  posi- 
tion, let  him  be  a  gentleman  or  nobleman,  or  prince  even, 
would  be  a  disrespect  which  I  ought  never  to  allow." 

"  I  can't  help .  allowing  it,"  said  Jessie.  "  They  laugh, 
and  say  droll  things,  and  then  I  can't  help  laughing  in  re- 
turn." 

"  Which  shows  that  it  would  be  much  better  for  you  not 
to  mix  with  them,"  I  said. 

"  But  I  don't  see,"  persisted  Jessie.  "  There  is  Jane 
Shaw,  she  is  not  above  you  or  me,  naturally,  but  she  has 


URSULA.  201 

been  a  good  deal  with  Captain  Price,  and  now  she  is  going  to 
marry  him.     Where  is  the  harm  ?  " 

"  Captain  Price  is  no  real  gentleman,  Jessie  ;  you  must 
own  that,"  I  replied.  "  Put  him  by  the  side  of  Mr.  Stew- 
art, of  Hattou,  and  you  see  the  difference  directly." 

"  But  he  was  born  a  gentleman  !  " 

"  That  may  be  ;  but  his  habits  and  ways  are  not  those  of 
a  gentleman,  nor  of  an  honest  farmer  either.  He  is  not 
looked  up  to  by  any  one,  and  that  is  the  reason,  so  far  as  I 
can  see,  why  he  is  going  to  marry  a  woman  like  Jane  Shaw, 
who  is  much  in  the  same  plight.  If  Captain  Price  had  re- 
spected her,  he  would  have  known  well  enough  that  he  had 
no  chance  with  her.  An  offer  from  such  a  man  is  no  honour, 
but  the  contrary.  And  as  to  being  intimate  with  him  or 
his  friends,  why  there  is  not  one  of  Captain  Price's  set  that 
I  would  ever  speak  to  again  if  he  called  me  by  my  Christian 
name ;  and  I  have  heard,  Jessie,  that  you  only  laugh  and 
look  pleased." 

She  was  silent,  and  turned  away  from  me,  and  I  heard 
she  was  sobbing.  Presentl}^  she  said,  "  Did  Mr.  Koger  tell 
you  that '?  " 

"  He  told  me  he  had  heard  it,  but  he  didn't  believe  it." 

"  It  was  true."  said  Jessie;  "I  didn't  think  about  it  at 
the  time." 

"  But  you  will  think  about  it  now,"  I  said.  "  Jessie, 
why  do  you  call,  Roger,  Mr.  Roger  ?  You  have  known  him 
a  pretty  long  time." 

She  quite  started  up.  "  I  could  not  call  him  anything 
else,  he  is  so  good." 

"  You  respect  him,"  I  said  ;  "  and  so  you  can't  take  lib- 
erties with  him.  What  respect  could  Captain  Price's  friend 
feel  for  you,  Jessie,  when,  having  only  seen  you  a  few  times 
before,  he  ventured  to  speak  to  you  more  freely  than  you 
speak  to  Roger,  whom  you  have  known  all  your  life  ?  " 

She  threw  her  arms  round  me,  and  kissed  me,  and  thanked 
nie,  and  I  felt  how  impossible  it  was  not  to  love  her ;  and 
then  she  begged  me  to  tell  Roger  that  she  was  dreadfully 
sorry,  and  it  never  should  happen  again ;  only  would  he 
please  not  say  anything  more  about  it  to  her.  And  again 
turning  from  me  she  fell  asleep  as  quickly  as  a  child. 
Vol.  1—9* 


202  URSULA. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

I  AM  going  to  Imrry  over  the  parting  with  Roger.  I 
seem  to  have  been  telling  of  nothing  but  partings  lately,  and 
moreover,  to  speak  strictly,  there  was  no  parting.  At  the 
time  I  felt  this  bitterly,  but  on  looking  back  I  see  that  it 
was  all  for  the  best,  and  that  I  was  saved  a  great  deal.  The 
fortnight  before  Roger  went  was  a  very  unsettled  one  for  us 
all ;  so  much  so,  that  at  last,  though  every  moment  with  him 
was  indescribably  precious,  I  began  to  wish  that  it  was  all 
over.  Leah  I  knew  was  impatient ;  indeed  she  did  not  at- 
tempt to  conceal  it.  Everything  was  put  aside  to  be  done 
when  Roger  was  gone,  for  William  and  he  had  so  much  to 
talk  about  and  arrange,  that  there  was  no  time  to  be  given 
to  anything  else.  Then  there  were  perpetual  interruptions 
from  visitors ;  Farmer  Kemp,  and  John  Hervey,  and  Mr. 
Shaw,  and  Mr.  Richardson,  and  even  Mr.  Stewart,  of  Hat- 
ton,  coming  over  to  Sandcombe  upon  business  or  from  kind- 
ness. It  was  strange  to  find  what  an  interest  every  one 
took  in  Roger,  I  had  not  the  least  notion  before,  how  much 
he  was  respected  ;  but  I  don't  think  there  is  anything  that 
makes  its  way  amongst  country  people  like  steady  work  and 
honesty.  It  is  better,  even  for  this  world,  than  great  suc- 
cess, which  is  thought  so  much  of  in  town  and  manufacturing 
districts.  I  did  feel  proud  of  Roger,  as  I  watched  him,  with 
his  fine,  manly  face,  and  straightforward,  yet  respectful  man- 
ner, standing  talking  to  Mr.  Stewart,  and  giving  his  opinions 
like  a  man  who  knows  that  his  words  are  of  value,  because 
they  come  from  a  true  heart,  and  a  single  eye,  and  a  rever- 
ence for  the  laws  of  God  and  man.  I  heard  Mr.  Stewart  say 
one  day  to  William,  that  he  never  knew  before  what  they 
were  all  going  to  lose  in  Roger,  and  he  couldn't  help  wishing 
that  something  had  been  thought  of  to  keep  him  in  England. 
But  it  was  too  late ;  time  went  on  faster  than  I  could  well 
bear  to  think,  and  at  last  there  came  the  day  before  what  I 
thought  was  to  be  the  last  parting.  I  scarcely  saw  Roger 
that  morning,  for  he  went  over  to  Hatton  to  say  good-bye  to 
Mrs.   Morris  and  Jessie.     He   and   Jessie   were   excellent 


URSULA.  203 

friends  again, — all  the  more  so  for  the  little  breeze.  No- 
tiling  bad  been  said  about  it  by  either  of  them,  but  the  few 
times  that  Jessie  came  to  Sandcombe  whilst  Roger  was 
there,  I  remarked  that  he  talked  more  to  her  than  he  had 
ever  done,  whilst  she  on  her  part  seemed  to  lean  to  his  opin- 
ion in  all  matters. 

It  sometimes  seemed  to  me  a  pity,  that  he  should  be  go- 
ing away,  just  when  he  was  gaining  an  influence  over  her  for 
good  ;  and  yet  I  knew  that  it  was  little  enough  he  could  do 
for  her.  A  girl  of  her  age  could  not  be  guided  by  a  man 
of  Roger's  age.  If  any  one  could  do  her  real  good,  it 
would  be  myself  I  thought  of  this  still  more  when  Roger 
came  back  from  Ilatton.  He  had  dined  there,  and  was  go- 
ing then  to  Lougside ;  and  he  might,  he  said,  be  obliged  to 
drive  into  Hove ;  but  he  hoped  not,  as  it  would  take  up  so 
much  time.  He  had  walked  to  Hatton,  but  intended  to  ride 
to  Lougside ;  and  while  his  horse  was  being  saddled,  he 
made  me  come  out  with  him  into  the  garden ;  and  we  walked 
up  and  down,  and  had  a  long  conversation,  and  all  the  time 
about  Jessie,  for  she  weighed  a  good  deal  upon  my  mind. 
He  said  that  she  had  come  out  more  in  this  last  meeting  ;  I 
suppose  the  fact  of  his  going  away  made  her  feel  quite  at 
ease.  She  had  told  him  that  there  was  no  one  to  look  after 
her ;  and  that  she  longed  to  have  some  person  to  cling  to, 
who  might  guard  her. 

"  She  did  not  ask  you  to  take  her  with  you  to  Canada,  did 
she  ?  "  I  said  lauohiiifi!;. 

He  drew  back  his  arm  from  from  me,  as  though  I  had 
struck  him  with  a  dagger.  "  I  don't  like  those  jokes,  Ursie," 
he  said.  "  If  you  will  only  keep  Jessie  from  the  Shaws,  she 
will  soon  find  a  good  husband  without  going  to  Canada  to 
look  for  one."  He  was  quite  silent  for  some  moments  after 
that ;  and  I  was  vexed,  though  I  had  spoken  innocently 
enough,  knowing  it  was  all  nonsense.  He  said  a  little  more 
about  William  and  Leah,  and  bade  me  stay  with  them  under 
all  trials.  "  You  are  too  young,  Ursie,"  he  said,  "  to  cut  the 
cable  and  set  sail  by  yourself.  Trust  to  me,  and  if  God 
should  be  pleased  to  give  me  health  and  strength,  we  will 
liave  a  home  together  again  before  many  months  are  over ;  and 
if  not" — he  stopped  short  in  his  walk,  and  laid  his  hand  upon 


204  URSULA. 

my  shoulder — "  Trot,  little  one,  we  must  put  relations  first, 
because  God  puts  them  first.  God  will  help  you  whatever 
comes." 

Those  seem  to  me  the  last  words  I  heard  him  speak ;  for 
they  are  the  last  which  rested  in  my  mind.  He  rode  off  to 
Longside,  and  on  his  way  met  John  Hervey,  who  took  him 
on  to  Hove.  Things  were  to  be  done  there  which  he  found 
would  keep  him  till  very  late  at  night ;  and  he  was  obliged 
to  be  up  very  early  the  next  morning,  to  be  in  time  for  the 
London  coach.  Farmer  Kemp  came  over  to  tell  us  this,  and 
brought  a  hasty  note  from  Roger,  saying  that  he  and  John 
had  settled  that  they  must  sleep  in  Hove ;  and  to  beg  that 
all  he  had  left  might  be  sent  in  the  very  first  thing  in  the 
morning.  Roger's  hand  shook,  I  am  sure,  when  he  wrote 
that  note ;  and  there  was  just  at  the  end,  "  Cheer  up  and 
trust;  God  bless  you;"  that  was  all.  He  had  not  a  mo- 
ment to  spare.  Farmer  Kemp  said.  I  remember  I  stood 
quite  still  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  did  not  speak  a 
word,  till  Farmer  Kemp  came  up  to  me  and  whispered, 
"  Courage,  lassie ;  "  and  then  quite  quietly,  for  I  could  not 
bear  to  let  any  one  see  what  I  felt,  I  answered,  "  The  things 
are  very  nearly  ready ;  I  will  go  and  see  about  them ;  "  and 
up-stairs  I  went. 

Not  one  tear  did  I  shed  till  I  found  myself  in  bed  at 
twelve  o'clock.  It  took  me  till  then  before  all  was  ready; 
and  oh !  how  I  longed  all  the  time  for  a  kind  word  and  look. 
But  William  was  vexed  that  Roger  had  not  thought  of  the 
plan  before ;  and  Leah  was  sadly  put  out  because  I  was 
obliged  to  keep  the  maid  up  when  she  would  not  help  me 
herself;  so  they  neither  of  them  gave  me  much  comfort.  So 
lonely,  so  very  lonely  I  felt,  when  I  lay  down  in  my  bed, — 
no  words  can  describe  it.  I  had  a  short  night,  scarcely  to  bo 
called  rest,  and  was  up  at  half-past  four  again,  to  finish  the 
last  box.  At  half-past  five  I  watched  the  cart  drive  out  of 
the  yard ;  and  then  I  went  back  to  my  room  again,  and  in- 
stead of  crying,  I  knelt  down  and  said  all  my  troubles  out  to 
God,  and  that  made  me  better. 

The  day  after  Roger  went  I  thought  of  going  over  to  see 
Mrs.  Weir.  It  must  have  looked  unkind  not  to  have  done 
BO  before,  but  it  was  impossible.     I  was  afraid  Mrs.  Weir 


URSULA.         -  205 

would  not  understand  this.  People  wlio  are  at  leisure  so 
little  know  what  the  diflBcultics  of  busy  people  are.  Even 
now  it  was  not  very  easy  to  find  time  for  the  walk ;  for  I  had 
a  dress  to  make  for  Mrs.  Eichardson,  which  had  been  put  aside 
for  Roger's  work  ;  and  I  had  no  means  of  gaining  any  extra 
hours,  as  Leah  was  inclined  to  seize  upon  every  moment  to 
which  she  had  the  slightest  claim,  and  indeed,  upon  some  on 
which  she  had  no  claim.  I  had  foreseen  this  from  the  be- 
ginning, and  resolved  to  have,  if  possible,  a  clear  understand- 
ing with  her  about  it.  I  took  the  opportunity,  when  William 
was  smoking  his  pipe  after  dinner,  and  she  was  dawdling 
about,  before  setting  to  work  for  the  afternoon. 

"  Leah,"  I  said,  "  I  thought  of  walking  over  to  the  Heath 
this  afternoon  ;  and  perhaps  I  might  have  a  cup  of  tea  there ; 
so  you  needn't  wait  for  me." 

"  It  is  early  days  to  be  going,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  said  ;  "  and 
I  thought  you  wanted  to  sit  quiet  in  the  afternoon,  and  do 
.your  work." 

"  I  should  be  back  by  half-past  six,"  I  said,  "  and  I  might 
work  between  that  and  supper,  and  besides  at  odd  times  to- 
morrow, and  so  make  up.  Mrs.  Weir  will  think  it  strange 
if  I  don't  go." 

"  There  is  house  needlework  to  be  done  between  tea  and 
supper,"  replied  Leah ;  "  and,  as  to  odd  times,  I  don't  see 
where  they  are  to  come  from." 

"  I  might  manage  half-an-hour  before  breakfast,  perhaps," 
I  said. 

Leah  looked  black.  ''  You  will  scarcely  do  needlework, 
and  get  breakfast,  too,"  she  said. 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  helping  to  get  breakfast,"  I  an- 
swered.    "  I  thought,  Leah,  you  always  did  that  yourself." 

"I have  done  it  since  Jessie  went,"  she  replied ;  "  but  I 
can't  go  on  with  it.  There  are  so  many  things  to  be  seen  to 
at  night,  I  must  have  more  rest  in  the  morning.  And  as  for 
Martha,  it  is  useless  to  look  to  her;  she  has  to  light  the  fires, 
and  boil  the  milk  for  the  men.  There  is  the  dairy,  too.  I 
reckoned  upon  you  looking  after  that,  Ursie.  Some  one  must 
iiavc  an  eye  to  it  early;  and  then  Martha  can  clean  the  milk- 
p.ins,  and  put  it  in  order,  whilst  we  are  having  our  breakfasts." 

All  very  true ;  only  the  breakfast  was  Leah's  own  duty. 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  "  inquired  Leah. 


206  URSULA. 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  was  my  reply.  "  But,  Leah,  if  I  take  to 
all  this  in  the  morning,  you  must  please  spare  me  an  hour  to 
make  up  in  the  evening.  I  don't  mean  when  there  is  a  press, 
but  generally." 

"  We  can  see  ;  we'll  talk  about  that,"  she  replied.  "  It's 
best  to  go  on  gradually.  No  one  can  mark  out  a  day  as  you 
would  have  it  done,  Ursie." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  would  like  to  have  the  poultry  fed 
the  first  thing  after  breakfast,"  I  said.  "  Jessie  used  to  do 
that,  I  know." 

"  I  don't  care  about  the  poultry,"  she  replied,  "  I  have 
taken  to  them  myself,  and  I  think  it  is  better.  But  there's 
the  meat  in  the  larder  to  be  changed,  and  you  could  help 
Martha  clean  the  dishes ;  and  then,  there  is  the  cooking." 

"  I  am  not  a  good  hand  at  cooking  for  so  many,"  I  said ; 
"  I  suppose  I  shall  have  the  girl  to  help  ?  " 

"  That  is  as  may  be.  We  shall  see  if  she  is  wanted. 
After  all,  there's  not  so  much  to  be  done.  Bacon  and  cab- 
bage are  easily  boiled  for  the  men,  and  the  maids  eat  af- 
ter us." 

"  You  give  the  men  fresh  meat  sometimes  in  the  week, 
don't  you  V  "  I  asked. 

"  Well!  we  used.  But  I  find  they  do  just  as  well  with- 
out it.  And  these  aren't  times  when  we  can  afi"ord  to  have 
fancies.  William  is  rather  particular  about  his  own  dinners, 
Ursie ;  and  I  dare  say,  having  been  so  much  with  Mrs.  Ma- 
son, you  have  learnt  some  things  that  may  please  him." 

"  You  will  want  a  pudding,  I  suppose,  for  the  men  ?  "  I 
said. 

"  Why,  yes,  to  be  sure ; — it  saves  bacon.  Apples  are 
coming  in,  but  they  are  scarce  this  year,  and  I  would  have 
them  kept  for  William.  Anything  does  for  the  men.  They 
eat  suet  pudding  as  often  as  not ;  aicd  baked  rice  and  milk, 
with  a  sprinkling  of  sugar, — not  eggs,  of  course.  By  the 
bye,  Ursie,  the  day  after  to-morrow  is  baking-day,  and  then 
William  looks  to  having  some  fruit  tarts  made ;  and  he  com- 
plained last  week  that  there  weren't  sweet  cakes  enough. 
He  is  like  a  child  in  being  fond  of  sweet  things." 

"  The  cooking  and  baking  both  will  be  more,  I  am  afraid, 
than  I  shall  be  able  to  undertake,  Leah,"  I  said,  "  consider- 
ing that  I  have  needlework  of  my  own  to  do  besides." 


URSULA.  207 

"It  is  only  one  day  in  the  week,"  she  replied,  "and 
Jessie  always  took  the  greatest  part  upon  herself." 

"  Because  she  had  nothing  else  to  do,"  I  replied.  "  What 
I  can  put  into  the  morning,  I  will ;  but  I  would  not  have 
you  look  to  me  for  more  than  that,  please ;  for,  indeed,  I 
don't  think  I  shall  be  able  to  manage  it." 

"  We  shall  see ;  we  can't  settle  beforehand ;  only  I 
thought,  Ursie,  you  were  come  to  make  yourself  useful." 

I  did  not  know  what  to  answer,  being  sure  that,  whatever 
I  said,  she  would  take  my  words  as  a  kind  of  promise. 

"  And  there's  washing  too,"  she  continued,  in  an  under 
tone. 

"  And  help  for  that,"  I  said,  boldly. 

"  Yes, — some."  Leah  spoke  doubtfully.  "  Mrs.  Hobson 
Avon't  come,  since  Kitty  has  been  turned  away,  and  the  Hat- 
ton  woman,  whom  I've  engaged,  won't  be  enough." 

"  But  thci-e  are  Martha  and  the  girl,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  but  if  they  are  washing,  who  is  to  take  their  work  ?  " 

"  llcally,  Leah,"  I  said,  "  if  you  mean  that  I  am  to  do  it, 
I  don't  see  how  it  is  possible.  There  will  be  cooking  on 
washing-days,  just  as  on  any  another,  in  the  morning,  and  a 
great  deal  more  fuss  in  the  house.  If  you  help  yourself,  or 
have  some  one  else  to  help,  we  may  do  very  well  ;  but  all 
the  willing  horses  in  England  won't  be  able  to  draw  a  waggon 
if  it  is  loaded  too  heavily." 

"  It  will  only  come  once  in  six  weeks,"  she  said,  "  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  that." 

"  And  the  work  will  be  all  the  more  heavy,"  I  replied. 
"  If  you  would  have  it  once  a  month,  and  get  proper  help, 
Leali,  I  am  sure  you  would  find  it  better." 

"  I  think,  Ursie,  you  had  best  leave  me  to  manage  my 
own  affairs,"  was  the  reply  I  had  from  her  ;  and  she  went  off 
without  giving  me  any  more  definite  notion  of  my  work,  or 
any  better  idea  of  how  it  was  all  to  be  managed. 

It  was  not  hopeful  certainly.  My  thoughts  turned  back  to 
Roger  and  my  happy  home  at  Dene,  with  no  one  to  interfere 
with  me  ;  all  my  duties  regular  and  orderly,  and  Roger  always 
pleased  with  me.  I  did  not  see  how  I  could  get  on  as  things 
were ;  but  still  less  did  I  see  how  God,  by  these  little  trials, 
was  teaching  and  training  me. 


208  U  K  S  U  L  A 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


FoK  I  had  great  faults.  They  are  clear  to  me  now.  At 
that  time  I  almost  thought  they  were  virtues.  Left  so 
early  as  I  was  without  a  mother  to  search  minutely  into  the 
defects  of  my  natural  character,  perhaps  it  is  not  surprising 
that  they  were  hidden  from  me  ;  although  I  can  with  truth 
say,  that,  in  the  main,  my  heart's  desire  was  to  serve  God 
and  do  my  duty  conscientiously. 

Wilful  and  hasty  I  had  no  doubt  that  I  was;  I  had 
been  punished  for  these  faults  continually,  and  Roger  had 
again  and  again  corrected  me  for  them.  Some  people,  too, 
said  I  was  self-trusting  and  conceited,  but  my  conscience,  on  a 
surface  examination,  in  a  measure,  acquitted  me.  If  persons 
were  set  over  me  whom  I  respected,  I  could  obey,  and  be  glad 
to  do  so.  I  knew  this,  and  it  satisfied  me,  and  I  looked  no 
deeper.  I  did  not  see  that  there  was  at  the  bottom  of  my 
heart  a  love  of  rule  and  independence,  even  underneath  my 
apparent  submission. .  I  could  not  give  up  my  own  will, 
merely  because  it  was  ordered  by  God's  providence  that  I 
should  do  so.  I  dearly  loved  to  feel  myself  my  own  mis- 
tress, and  wherever  I  was  placed,  I  was  inclined  to  criticise 
and  find  fault  with  any  person  who  claimed  authority  over 
me  ;  and  all  this  did  not  appear  to  me  wrong.  I  had  but  one 
desire — that  things  should  be  done  in  the  right  way.  I  for- 
got that  it  was  necessary  also  that  they  should  be  done  by 
the  right  person. 

And  so  again  as  regarded  independence  of  character,  the 
wish  to  provide  for  myself,  and  make  my  own  way  in  the 
world.  These  were  dispositions  in  which  I  saw  no  harm  and 
suspected  no  danger.  They  had  worked  well  hitherto.  They 
had,  I  knew,  been  a  great  assistance  to  Roger,  and  very  much 
lessened  his  anxiety  in  parting  with  me.  They  had  given 
me  a  position  in  Mrs.  Weir's  household,  and  enabled  me  to 
be  of  far  greater  use  to  her  than  I  could  have  been  if  I 
had  merely  done  as  I  was  told,  without  offering  an  opinion, 
or  showing  that  I  was  able  to  work  out  my  own  path.  I 
could  not  help  feeling  that  I  had  gained  a  standing  for  my- 


U  E  S  U  L  A  .  209 

self  in  the  world,  even  beyond  my  age,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  Lad  nothing  to  do  but  to  go  on  as  I  had  begun,  and 
all  must  be  well.  For  several  years  past,  day  by  day,  insen- 
sibly to  myself,  my  self-dependence  had  increased.  If  I  had 
continued  with  Mrs.  Weir,  gaining  influence  over  her  and 
her  household,  it  must  have  gone  on  increasing,  and  who  can 
say  what  the  end  might  have  been. 

We  are  often  warned  against  our  besetting  sin.  I  am 
not  at  all  sure  whether  we  do  not  need  a  much  stronger 
warning  against  our  besetting  characteristic.  One  thing  I 
am  sure  of,  that  the  inconsistencies  and  weaknesses  which  I 
have  marked  in  some  of  the  best  persons  I  have  ever  known, 
have  arisen  from  some  tendency  in  the  natural  disposition,  in 
itself  innocent,  but  which  altered  the  right  balance  of  the 
character.  Too  much  hope,  or  too  little,  too  great  excita- 
bility, too  great  rapidity  in  forming  opinions,  too  great  fear 
of  giving  pain,  too  much  caution ;  many  such  peculiarities 
there  are,  which  are  no  doubt  necessary  as  forming  the  par- 
ticular features  of  every  individual  character,  and  yet  which 
require  in  each  case  especially  to  be  watched  and  guarded 
against. 

In  my  own  case  I  knew  that  I  had  a  great  love  of  inde- 
pendence ;  when  it  became  wilfulness  I  was  scolded  and 
punished  for  it.  Yet  it  was  only  because  it  was  wilfulness; 
no  one  would  have  thought  of  punishing  me  for  liking  inde- 
pendence. It  would  have  been  very  unjust  and  unfair  to  do 
so ;  but  then  no  one  thought  of  whispering  in  my  ear : — 
"  Take  care  that  your  love  of  independence  does  not  become 
a  fault  by  blinding  your  eyes  to  duty." 

It  may  be  said  that  religion  ought  to  have  set  all  that 
right,  and  so  no  doubt  it  ought ;  but  how  few  become 
thoroughly  religious  at  once.  ^Vo  may  think  ourselves  con- 
verted because  we  have  gone  through  a  certain  state  of  sor- 
row and  repentance,  and  no  doubt  such  feelings  are  very 
often  the  beginning  of  a  holy  life,  but  they  arc  by  no  means 
tlie  end.  lleligion  must,  I  imagine,  be  witli  us  all  a  matter 
(if  growth  ;  and  as  to  myself,  I  do  not  remember  that  I  ever 
had  any  of  those  seasons  oi  excited  feelings  which  I  know 
that  many  pass  through.  Times  there  were  indeed  when  I 
was  more  penitent,  or  more  earnest,  or  thankful,  but  it  wad 


210  URSULA. 

all  in  a  quiet  way — Roger's  way — in  which  there  was  very 
little  talking  about  feelings. 

In  some  respects  I  dare  say  this  was  a  snare  to  me,  for 
there  are  dangers  wherever  one  turns.  I  was  likely  to  go  to 
sleep  over  my  duties,  or  do  them  in  a  slovenly  manner,  and 
this  would  naturally  hide  from  me  many  of  the  lesser  evils 
of  my  character.  It  is  only  when  we  are  heartily  zealous  in 
our  wish  to  please  God,  that  we  search  deeply  into  the  secret 
corners  of  our  hearts,  and  through  His  grace  are  enabled  to 
discover  and  root  out  the  weaknesses  and  infirmities  as  well  as 
the  secret  sins  which  lie  hidden  there.  My  life  had  hitherto 
been  too  peaceful  to  reveal  to  me  the  necessity  of  such  an 
examination.  Where  there  was  little  contradiction  there 
was  little  to  struggle  against,  and  though  by  no  means  well 
satisfied  with  myself,  I  certainly  had  much  to  learn  as  to  my 
own  deficiencies.  And  at  that  time  religion  with  me  was 
more  a  matter  of  duty  than  of  love.  I  can  now  see,  through 
God's  mercy,  that  duty  is  but  a  stepping-stone,  one  without 
which  we  can  never  reach  the  point  at  which  we  should  aim, 
but  which  cannot  by  itself  raise  us  to  the  height  from  which 
Heaven  will  be  always  in  our  view.  Sorrow  and  disap- 
pointment in  this  world  had  their  work  to  do  in  me  before 
I  could  be  brought  to  feel  that  the  religion  for  which  God 
has  created  us  is  not  merely  a  law  of  obedience  but  a  spring 
of  happiness, — happiness  in  the  consciousness  of  that  deep, 
satisfying  grateful  love  which  makes  the  heaviest  trial  and 
the  most  self-denying  discipline  a  joy,  when  submitted  to  for 
Christ's  sake. 

I  say  this  of  myself,  because  I  feel  that  to  many  my  feel- 
ings of  religion,  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing,  may 
appear  unsatisfactory.  They  were  so,  I  grant.  They  were 
unfolding,  but  as  yet  they  were  only  in  the  bud.  All  I  will 
venture  to  say  of  them  is,  that  I  believe  they  were  of  the 
right  kind.  There  was  a  deep  perception  of  my  own  un- 
worthiness,  a  hearty  wish  to  serve  God,  a  watchfulness 
against  all  the  faults  of  which  I  was  aware,  a  spirit  of  thank- 
fulness for  my  daily  blessings,  and  I  hope  some  perception 
of  the  infinite  love  shown  to  us  all  in  our  Redemption.  I 
speak  of  this  latter  feeling  doubtfully,  because  it  seems  to 
me  now  that  it  is  one  which  persons  are  often  slow  in  attain- 


U  K  S  U  L  A  .  211 

ing,  especially  wlien,  as  in  my  case,  the  growth  of  religion 
has  been  unaccompanied  by  great  fears  or  an  overpowering 
sense  of  sin,  and  consequent  relief  in  the  consciousness  of 
pardon.  If  I  can  judge  at  all  of  myself,  I  see  my  own  sin- 
fulness now  much  more  fully  than  I  did  then,  and  so  I  hope 
I  am  more  penitent  and  more  thankful ;  and  yet  I  can 
scarcely  say  that  I  am  more  in  earnest. 

I  walked  over  to  the  Heath  in  a  very  unhappy  state  of 
mind  :  lonely, — I  could  not  be  otherwise,  when  I  thought  of 
the  long  separation  from  lloger, — and  fretted  and  perplexed 
as  to  my  present  duties ;  how  far  I  was  bound  to  give  in  to 
Leah  in  consideration  of  her  being  William's  wife,  and  that 
he  was  giving  me  a  home ;  and  how  far  I  was  called  upon  to 
stand  up  for  my  own  right,  and  the  agreement  which  had 
beei*  made  as  to  my  time  before  lloger  went  away.  But  as 
I  drew  near  the  Heath,  other  thoughts  forced  themselves 
upon  me.  I  met  Mr.  Temple  as  I  was  going  along  the  side 
of  St.  Anne's  HiU.  He  was  coming  up  from  the  cottage, 
and  had  moved  a  hurdle  which  was  in  his  way,  and  as  I  drew 
near  he  kept  it  open  for  me.  He  was  a  civil  little  gentle- 
man, and  i  liked  as  well  as  pitied  him,  so  I  thanked  him  very 
heartily. 

"  You  are  going  down  to  the  cottage,  I  suppose,"  he 
said. 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  I  replied.  "I  hope  I  shall  find  Mrs.  AVeir 
pretty  well." 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  to-day,"  he  said.  "  There  have 
been  visitors,  and  she  has  not  been  down-stairs." 

"  More  visitors  !  "  1  thought  to  myself.  "  They  will  kill 
poor  Mrs.  Weir  between  them  soon." 

"  A  little  pleasant  society  does  her  good,  I  think,''  con- 
tinued Mr.  Temple.  "  She  has  been  much  better  since  my 
wife  and  I  came." 

"  She  is  getting  over  her  trouble  a  little,  I  hope,  Sir,"  I 
said,  for  I  did  not  like  to  agree  with  him,  though  there  was 
some  truth  in  his  words. 

"  I  think,  if  we  could  find  a  house  to  suit  us,  we  miglit 
remain  here  some  time  longer,"  observed  Mr.  Temple,  lie 
looked  at  me  askance ;  he  never  seemed  to  have  courage  to 
look  any  one  in  the  face.     I  made  no  reply,  and  ho  went  on, 


212  URSULA. 

"  The  climate  suits  Mrs.  Temple  so  well,  and  we  were  just 
thinking  of  giving  up  our  house  in  the  north.  Do  you  know 
how  many  bed-rooms  there  are  in  that  house  on  the  lower 
road—'  Stonccliff,'  I  think  they  call  it  ?  " 

"  No,  Sir,  I  don't,"  I  replied,  and  I  made  a  movement  to 
go  on;  but  Mr.  Temple  was  determined  to  have  his  talk  out. 
I  believe  he  always  kept  what  he  had  to  say  till  he  found 
some  one  to  expend  it  upon,  when  he  was  out  of  his  wife's 
sight. 

"  Mr.  Richardson  says  it  is  cold  in  the  winter,"  he  ob- 
served ;  "  did  you  ever  hear  that  it  was  considered  so  ? 
You  must  know  this  part  of  the  country  well,  for  you  have 
lived  here  all  your  life." 

"  The  houses  at  Compton  are  all  new,  Sir,"  I  answered ; 
"  I  don't  know  much  about  them ;  but  it  must  be  very  cold 
for  a  delicate  person  like  Mrs.  Temple.  The  wind  cuts  round 
the  corner  of  the  cliff,  and  she  would  find  the  roar  of  the  sea 
troublesome." 

"  I  don't  think  she  minds  that,"  he  said  ;  "  it  is  a  good 
house,  I  believe,  and — but,  however,  I  won't  keep  you ;  if 
you  see  Mrs.  Temple,  tell  her  I  have  walked  over  to  Dene." 

I  suspect  a  fit  of  caution  and  fear  of  his  wife  came  over 
him  at  the  moment,  and  sto2)ped  his  communicativeness,  for 
he  rushed  away,  not  waiting  to  put  the  hurdle  back,  and  I 
watched  him  climbing  the  hill  by  the  help  of  his  walking- 
stick,  and  then  continued  my  walk. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A  THORN  had  been  planted  in  my  mind,  a  very  large  one, 
though  not  so  large  as  it  might  have  been  if  T  had  been  liv- 
ing with  Mrs.  Weir.  I  only  half  believed  what  Mr.  Temple 
said,  for  he  was  a  very  blundering  man,  and  IMrs.  Temple 
was  just  as  likely  as  not  to  have  put  the  notion  into  his  head, 
only  for  the  sake  of  employing  him.  She  was  always  plan- 
ning something  for  him,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  settled  undoing 
it  again.  But  if  there  were  any  truth  in  it,  it  would  be  ill 
news  indeed,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned :  and  even  as  rcQ-arded 


URSULA.  213 

Mrs.  Weir,  I  bad  a  great  dislike  to  the  notion  of  her  being 
taken  in  by  any  one,  even  though  it  made  her  happy  for  the 
time.  I  have  always  so  dearly  loved  the  truth  in  all  things, 
and  would  rather  know  it  and  face  it  both  in  persons  and 
circumstances,  however  unpleasant  it  may  be,  than  live  in  the 
pleasantest  dream  that  could  be  granted  me.  But  I  don't 
think  this  was  quite  Mrs.  Weir's  case ;  a  little  dreaminess 
and  imagination  were  necessary  to  her. 

Before  I  reached  the  house,  I  saw  the  visitors  who  had 
been  mentioned ;  they  were  Mr.  and  ]Mrs.  Richardson,  and 
they,  and  Mrs.  Temple,  and  Miss  Milicent  were  standing 
together  in  the  sweep.  I  think  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richardson 
were  just  going  after  paying  their  visit.  I  tried  to  make  my 
way  to  the  back  door  without  being  noticed,  but  Mr.  Rich- 
ardson saw  and  came  after  me  to  inquire  for  Roger,  and  then 
Miss  Milicent  followed. 

"  So  it's  you,  at  last,  Ursie,"  she  said.  "  I  made  sure 
you  had  quite  forgotten  us  ;  and  there  has  been  my  mother 
fidgeting  to  see  you  every  day.  You  knocked  down  one  of 
the  little  ivory  chessmen  when  you  took  out  those  nick-nack 
follies  the  other  day." 

"  Did  I,  Miss  Milicent  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  very  much  sur- 
prised and  vexed,  and  not  at  all  recollecting  at  the  moment 
ou  what  occasion  I  had  meddled  with  them. 

''  And  Matilda  Temple  was  to  have  had  them  for  the 
charity  bazaar,  but  they  are  no  good  now,"  continued  Miss 
Milicent.  "  Not  that  I  care  much  for  that,"  she  added, 
laughing,  and  speaking  to  Mr.  Richardson.  "  Charity  ba- 
zaars are  not  much  in  my  way.     Are  they  in  yours  ?  " 

He  looked  grave,  and  said  he  did  not  mind  having  things 
made  privately  and  sold  for  charity,  because  many  persons 
could  give  work  and  time  who  could  not  give  money ;  but 
he  did  dislike  turning  what  was  called  charity  into  an  amuse- 
ment, and  having  tents,  and  music,  and  young  ladies  to  sell 
the  things  at  absurd  prices,  and  in  fact  making  it  just  as 
much  a  worldly  entertainment  as  a  ball  or  a  play.  It  was 
as  much  as  to  say  that  people  would  not  give  their  money 
without  having  a  return.  There  was  a  verso  in  the  Bible 
Avhicli  fllwa3-s  came  to  his  mind  when  he  heard  of  bazaars. 
lie  paused  a  moment,  and  when  Miss  Milicent  insisted 


214  URSULA. 

upon  hearing  it,  he  quoted  David's  speech  to  Araunah  the 
Jebusite  :  "  Neither  will  I  oifer  burnt  offerings  unto  the 
Lord  my  God  of  that  which  doth  cost  me  nothing." 

Mrs.  Temple  came  up  just  as  Mr.  Richardson  was  speak- 
ing, and  I  was  afraid  there  would  be  a  long  discussion.  I 
felt  a  little  awkward  and  out  of  my  place,  but  I  did  not  like 
to  move  away,  not  knowing  where  exactly  to  go.  I  was  re- 
lieved when  Mrs.  Richardson  joined  us,  and  interrupted  the 
conversation  by  addressing  me.  I  think  she  felt,  like  my- 
self, that  an  argument  with  Mrs.  Temple  might  be  disa- 
greeable. 

"  Ursula,"  she  said,  "  I  am  really  glad  to  see  you.  I 
think  you  may  help  Miss  Weir  and  me  in  something  we  have 
been  planning." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  Ursie  can  help  better  than  any  one,"  said 
Miss  Milicent ;  "  and  she  will  take  a  girl  at  Sandcombe,  I 
am  sure.  I  think,  Mrs.  Richardson,  we  might  as  well  let 
her  have  Esther  Smithson ;  she  is  the  most  troublesome  gud 
in  the  school." 

"  I  should  be  very  happy  to  assist  in  any  good  work," 
began  Mrs.  Temple,  coming  forward,  and  rather  pushing  her- 
self before  me. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Richardson :  "  but  this  is  a 
business  which  only  concerns  parishioners.  Happily,  Sand- 
combe is  in  Compton  parish,  so  that  Ursula  still  belongs 
to  us." 

"  Your  dear  mother  will  be  wanting  me,  Milicent,  I  am 
afraid,"  said  Mrs.  Temple,  in  a  whining  voice,  which  she 
always  adopted  when  speaking  of  Mrs.  Weir.  "  Mrs.  Rich- 
ardson, I  am  afraid  I  must  leave  you." 

She  was  very  short  in  her  manner,  and  I  saw  she  was 
displeased.  I  don't  know  whether  Mrs.  Richardson  remarked 
it,  but  I  am  sure  we  all  breathed  more  freely  when  she  was 
gone. 

"  Could  you  walk  down  the  road  with  us  a  little  way, 
Ursula  ?  "  said  Mr.  Richardson.  "  I  am  afraid  we  must  be 
going,  for  I  have  an  engagement  at  home  in  half  an  hour." 

"  Ursula  will  be  tired,"  remarked  Mrs.  Richardson,  who 
never  forgot  to  be  thoughtful. 

If  I  had  been  tired  I  should  have  gone  with  them,  they 


URSULA,  215 

were  always  so  pleasant  and  kind;  but,  as  it  happened,  I 
really  was  not  tired,  the  air  on  the  hill  had  been  so  refresh- 
ing. 

Miss  Milicent  followed  without  being  asked. 

"  What  we  were  talking  of,  Ursula,"  said  Mrs.  Richard- 
son, "was  the  school." 

"  The  Sunday-school,  Ma'am  ?  "  I  inquired.  "  I  am  afraid 
I  should  scarcely  be  able  to  walk  over  from  Sandcombe  as  I 
used  to  do  from  Dene." 

"  Not  the  Sunday-school,  Ursie,"  interrupted  Miss  Mili- 
cent, before  Mrs.  Richardson  could  answer,  "  but  the  day- 
school.  We  have  a  plan  for  the  girls.  We  mean  to  make 
good  servants  of  them.  They  are  not  to  be  such  good-for- 
nothings  as  Kitty  Hobson  and  her  set." 

Poor  Kitty  Hobson  !  She  had  become  quite  a  proverb 
of  wickedness ;  yet  Mrs.  Kemp  thought  well  of  her. 

Mrs.  Richardson  never  interrupted  Miss  Milicent,  which 
was  one  reason,  I  think,  of  her  being  such  a  favourite.  She 
even  waited  a  second  to  hear  if  there  was  anything  more 
coming,  and  then  she  said,  "  It  is  only  an  experiment,  Ursula  ; 
but  you  know  how  badly  some  of  our  girls  "have  turned  out 
lately ;  and  Mr.  Richardson  and  I  have  been  thinking  whether 
it  would  be  possible  to  give  them  a  little  domestic  teaching 
before  they  quite  leave  school.  If  we  could  manage  it,  we 
might  send  them  out  from  the  school,  with  a  good  character, 
and  put  them  at  once  in  respectable  situations,  instead  of 
leaving  them  to  chance  places." 

"  You  could  take  one  very  well  at  Sandcombe,  Ursie," 
said  Miss  Milicent;  "you  must  tell  your  brother  about  it. 
And  Jenny  Dale  shall  have  one  too.  Any  girl  who  comes 
under  her  will  have  a  fair  notion  of  cooking.  I  think  it  a 
first-rate  notion.  If  Jenny  won't  teach  her,  1  will  undertake 
it  myself." 

1  tried  not  to  smile  at  the  notion  of  Miss  Milicent's  teach- 
ing cookery ;  and  speaking  to  jMrs.  Richardson,  I  asked  her 
to  explain  a  little  more  clearly  what  she  meant,  for  I  could 
not  see  my  way  to  it.  Mr.  Richardson  answered  :  "  I  think 
we  all  agree  tha't  there  is  a  great  evil  in  the  present  state  of 
things,  Ursula,"  he  said  ;  "  perhaps  a  lady  can  see  more  into 
it  than  a  gentleman  ;  but  it  strikes  me  that  the  reason  why 


216  URSULA. 

SO  many  of  our  girls  come  to  misery  is  that  they  are  left  to 
make  their  first  start  in  the  world  by  themselves.  They  leave 
school,  and  have  learned  to  read,  and  write,  and  do  needle- 
work, but  they  know  nothing  of  household  work ;  and  so  they 
can  seldom  or  never  go  at  once  into  superior  service,  but  are 
sent  to  lodging-houses,  and  farms ;  no  offence,  Ursula,  but 
you  will  agree  with  me  that  ordinary  farm  service  is  not  good 
training  for  a  girl." 

"  Very  bad,"  I  said,  earnestly,  for  it  had  often  and  often 
weighed  upon  my  mind. 

"  Now  we  think,"  continued  Mrs.  Richardson,  taking  up 
the  sentence  where  her  husband  had  left  it,  "  that  if  a  few 
persons  in  the  parish,  who  are  interested  in  the  girls,  would 
agree  to  assist  us,  we  might  do  something  towards  remedying 
this  evil.  Our  notion  is  that  the  girls,  as  they  grow  old 
enough,  should  be  sent  to  some  house, — say  Mrs.  AVeir's  or 
ours,  or  Mrs.  Kemp's,  at  Longside,  to  work  in  the  morning, 
from  seven  or  eight  till  twelve ;  having  their  breakfast,  but 
not  their  dinner,  and  going  to  school  in  the  afternoon." 

"  That  is  the  part  I  don't  like,"  interrupted  Miss  Milicent. 
"  Poor  starved  creatures !  why  aren't  they  to  have  their 
dinner  ?  " 

"  Because  if  they  do,"  said  Mr.  Richardson,  "  they  become 
an  expense,  and  persons  won't  choose  to  burden  themselves 
with  them.  I  would  not  even  insist  upon  the  breakfast.  If 
they  went  before  eight  they  should  have  it,  and  if  not  they 
should  get  what  they  could  at  home.  You  must  remember 
they  are  not  worse  off  than  they  would  be  if  they  were  regu- 
larly at  school,  and  our  object  is  to  pkiu  something  which 
shall  last,  because  it  only  touches  time,  and  not  money.  You 
and  I,  Miss  Weir,  might  be  very  willing  to  give  the  poor 
children  a  dinner  every  day,  but  Mrs.  Burton,  the  surgeon's 
widow,  would  never  be  able  to  afford  it,  and  so  she  would 
never  come  into  our  plan." 

"  And  those  who  can  afford  it  are  to  let  the  children  starve 
for  the  sake  of  those  who  can't,"  exclaimed  Miss  Milicent 
"  There  is  neither  rhyme  nor  reason  in  that,  Mr.  Richard- 
son." 

"  No  rhyme,  I  grant,  but  I  hope  some  reason,"  he  replied. 
"  If  we,  who  can  afford  it,  give  the  children  a  dinner,  we 


URSULA.  217 

make  the  others  discontented.     There  must  be  one  rule  for 
all." 

"  Besides,"  continued  Mrs.  Richardson,  "  there  is  an  ex- 
ception for  Saturday.  You  may  keep  your  girl  all  day,  on 
Saturday,  Miss  Weir,  and  give  her  sixpence  besides,  only  you 
are  not  obliged  to  do  so  if  you  don't  like  it." 

"  And  you  may  want  her  services  on  some  other  day,  for 
the  afternoon,"  said  Mr.  Richardson,  "  and  then,  if  you  ask 
permission,  it  will  be  given,  and  you  can  bestow  another  six- 
pence ;  so  you  see  there  is  an  opening  for  as  much  extrava- 
gance as  you  like.  Only  remember  that  you  must  let  her 
go  home  by  daylight,  or  you  will  have  the  schoolmistress,  and 
the  clergyman,  and  the  committee  down  upon  you,  and  be  in 
our  black  books  for  ever  after." 

"  Well !  it's  a  capital  plan,"  exclaimed  Miss  Milicent ; 
"  it  will  be  the  making  of  the  girls.     I  should  like  to  see  it 
begin  with  that  lanky-haired  Hetty  Smithson.     If  it  answered 
-  with  her  it  would  for  any  one." 

"  Ursula  says  nothing,"  observed  Mrs.  Richardson. 

"  I  dare  say  you  know  all  there  is  to  be  said,  better  than 
I  do,  Ma'am,"  I  replied. 

"  But  you  have  objections,"  remarked  Mr.  Richardson, 
rather  in  a  disappointed  tone. 

"  I  think  it  might  answer  very  well,  Sir,  if  you  were  always 
sure  of  the  persons  whom  the  girls  would  be  placed  under. 
It  is  not  the  mistresses,  but  the  servants,  who  will  stand  in 
the  way." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Richardson,  "  I  have  thought  of 
that." 

"  If  you  have  good  upper  servants,  whom  the  girls  will 
obey,"  I  continued,  "it  will  all  be  easy;  but  if  they  are 
young  and  flighty,  they  will  only  teach  the  girls  evil,  and  if 
they  are  cross  they  will  aggravate  them,  so  that  they  will 
never  get  on  together." 

"  A  difficulty,  not  an  objection,"  said  Mr.  Richardson. 
"  If  the  plan  is  tried  in  six  cases  and  answers  only  in  three, 
the  three  are  a  gain.  Nothing  can  be  worse  than  the  way 
things  are  managed  at  present." 

That  was  true,  certainly.     I  myself  had  watched  Comp- 
ton  girls,  sent  out  into  the  world,  one  after  another,  taking 
Vol.  I.— 10 


218  URSULA. 

the  first  place  they  could  meet  with,  let  it  be  what  it  might, 
and  often  even  working  in  the  fields,  because  they  had  no 
opening  for  service,  and,  in  more  cases  than  I  could  bear  to 
remember,  the  end  had  been  grievous.  Still  I  was  not  very 
hopeful  as  to  the  present  scheme.  There  was  distance  to  be 
considered,  and  I  mentioned  this  to  Mr.  Richardson. 

He  had  thought  of  it,  he  said,  and  no  doubt  it  frequently 
might  stand  in  the  way.  The  plan  would  be  much  more 
easily  carried  out  in  a  town,  or  in  a  small  place  where  the 
houses  were  close  together,  than  in  a  scattered  parish  like 
Compton.  "  But  where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way,  Ursu- 
la," he  added,  with  a  pleasant  smile.  "  We  want  three  or 
four  persons  who  will  set  their  heads  and  their  hearts  to 
workj  and  consider  what  is  good  for  the  girls,  and  not  what 
is  pleasant  to  themselves.  Then  I  think  the  difficulty  might 
be  greatly  obviated.  The  children  who  lived  nearest  to  you 
would  go  to  you,  and  those  who  lived  nearest  to  me  would 
come  to  me.  I  think,  Miss  Milicent,  upon  that  principle, 
Mrs.  Kemp  would  take  Hetty  Smithson,  unless  she  can  be 
sent  to  Sandcombe. 

"  Mrs.  Kemp  likes  good-for-nothing  girls,"  exclaimed 
Miss  Milicent ;  "  she  has  turned  Kitty  Hobson  out  quite 
new." 

"  By  a  little  kindness  and  care,"  said  Mrs.  Richardson. 
"  That  was  what  first  put  this  idea  into  our  minds.  Kitty 
was  seized  just  at  the  right  moment,  and  taught  that  she  had 
a  character,  which  was  a  fact  she  had  been  made  to  doubt ; 
and  now  she  thinks  it  worth  while  to  try  and  keep  it.  We 
want  to  do  the  same  thing  for  our  girls,  before  they  have 
reached  poor  Kitty's  '  ne'er-do-weel '  state." 

"  To  retain  being  much  more  easy  than  to  attain,"  said  Mr. 
Richardson ;  and  then  he  added,  very  earnestly,  "  There  is 
the  analogy  of  God's  dealings  with  man,  to  teach  us  that 
truth.  '  Members  of  Christ,  children  of  God,  and  inheritors 
of  the  kingdom  of  Heaven,'  as  the  Catechism  says  ;  we  have 
our  rank  given  us  from  the  beginning,  and  all  our  struggle 
thenceforward  must  be  to  keep  it." 

My  mind  all  this  time  was  dwelling  upon  Leah  and 
Sandcombe.  I  did  not  at  all  see  how  the  plan  was  to  work 
there. 


URSULA.  219 

Miss  Milicent  was  rather  cross  because  I  said  so  little. 
"  I  wish,  Ursie  Grant,"  she  remarked,  "  that  you  would 
speak  out.  I  am  sure  Mr.  Richardson  would  like  it  better, 
and  I  know  I  should." 

"  I  can  understand  Ursula's  feelings,"  said  Mrs.  Eawlin- 
son ;  "  she  is  taken  by  surprise." 

"  Yes,  Ma'am,"  I  said ;  "  and  I  doubt  whether  at  Sand- 
combe  we  have  any  one  who  could  look  after  a  child 
properly." 

"  Not  yourself  ?  "  said  Mr.  Richardson. 

"  I  am  not  mistress.  Sir,"  was  my  reply;  and  he  quite 
understood,  without  asking  more  questions. 

"  Well  !  "  he  said,  after  a  little  thought,  "  let  us  make 
up  our  minds  that  it  will  be  a  failure, — a  failure,  at  least,  so 
far  as  that  many  of  the  children  will  fail  to  obtain  good 
from  it,  and  that  the  persons  whom  we  depend  upon  to 
help  us  will  grow  weary  and  give  up.  Still,  is  that  any  rea- 
son for  not  making  the  attempt  ?     What  harm  can  it  do  ?  " 

"  None,"  said  Mrs.  Rawlinson. 

"  And,"  he  continued,  "  we  will  try  to  hold  out  a  re- 
ward for  good  behaviour.  The  school  is  not  rich ;  but  I 
think  we  could  afford  half  a  sovereign,  if  not  more,  to  any 
girl  who,  having  gone  out  to  work  in  the  morning,  whilst  at 
school,  should  afterwards  be  placed  in  a  permanent  situation, 
and  remain  in  it  with  a  good  character  for  a  year.  That 
would,  I  hope,  be  a  little  inducement  to  the  parents  to  keep 
their  children  at  school  longer ;  and,  I  confess,  one  of  my 
main  hopes  of  good  is  in  the  fact  that  the  girls,  even  whilst 
they  are  learning  to  be  servants,  will  still  feel  that  they  are 
children,  and  under  school  discipline.  Besides  the  after- 
noon lessons,  there  will  be  the  Sunday-school  and  church 
for  them  regularly,  so  that  their  good  habits  will  be  kept 
up." 

"  Well,  Ursie,  isn't  it  all  right  now  ?  "  exclaimed  Miss 
Milicent,  appealing  to  me. 

But  Mr.  Richardson  answered  for  me.  "  Pardon  me, 
Miss  Weir ;  we  won't  have  Ursula's  assent  drawn  from  her 
unwillingly.  We  will  try  the  plan,  and  then  she  shall  say 
what  she  thinks  of  it.  All  we  will  ask,  Ursula,  is  that  you 
should  mention  the  notion  to  Mrs.  Grant,  at  Sandcombe,  and 
try  to  persuade  her  to  let  us  send  a  girl  to  her." 


220  URSULA. 

There  was  no  fear  of  a  refusal.  Leah  would  like  any 
help  she  could  get  when  there  was  no  eating  and  drinking  in 
the  case ;  and  I  said  at  once,  heartily,  that  I  was  sure  there 
would  be  no  difficulty.  I  confess  I  felt  very  glad  not  to 
have  to  give  an  opinion  as  to  whether  the  scheme  would  suc- 
ceed. I  had  always  a  quick  eye  for  diflSculties ;  and  I 
thought,  moreover,  that  ladies  and  gentlemen  could  not  well 
understand  the  ins  and  outs  of  farm-houses. 

The  principle  on  which  Mr.  Richardson  acted  was  be- 
yond me  then.  He  said  something  to  his  wife  just  before 
we  parted,  which,  though  it  rested  in  my  mind,  it  required  a 
long  experience  to  understand. 

"  These  are  no  days  for  waiting  for  perfect  plans,"  he 
said.  "  Evils  are  crowding  upon  us  so  fast,  that  we  must 
seize  the  first  weapon  which  offers  itself  to  withstand  them, 
so  that  it  is  one  which  we  can  use  conscientiously ;  and  we 
must  be  contented  to  fight  feebly — to  strike  at  hazard — often 
uselessly ;  yet  always  with  zeal,  hope,  and  faith,  remember- 
ing that  the  battle  is  not  ours,  but  the  Lord's." 

Note. — The  plan  alluded  to  has  been  tried  successfully  in  different 
places,  with  modifications  according  to  the  wants  and  peculiarities  of 
the  neighbourhood. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  You  will  find  my  mother  in  her  room,  Ursie,"  said  Miss 
Milicent ;  and  she  walked  on  with  Mrs.  Richardson,  whilst 
T  went  back  to  the  cottage  alone,  pondering  in  my  own  mind 
upon  the  strange  way  we  human  beings  have  of  looking  at 
our  duties ;  and  how  Miss  Milicent  could  throw  her  whole 
heart  and  soul  into  a  plan  for  making  Esther  Smithson  a 
good  respectable  girl,  and  yet  could  not  put  herself  out  of 
her  way  for  an  hour  to  cheer  her  poor  sick  mother.  I  hope 
I  did  not  forget  that  I  was  liable  to  the  same  kind  of  de- 
lusion myself 

Jenny  Dale  kept  me  talking  for  a  few  minutes  in  the 
kitchen,  before  I  could  go  up-stairs.  She  was  full  of  com- 
plaints, and   I  could   almost  fancy  that  things  were  worse, 


URSULA.  221 

because  I  was  not  there.  Mrs.  Temple,  she  said,  was  be- 
coming so  domineering,  there  was  no  bearing  her.  She  had 
actually  taken  to  ordering  dinner,  and  came  out  into  the 
kitchen  every  morning,  and  would  peer  about  in  the  larder 
to  see  after  the  scraps.  She  was  very  fond  of  having  scrap 
dinners  for  the  kitchen,  and  did  not  approve  of  having  the 
bits  given  away ;  and  this  had  nearly  caused  a  downright 
quarrel  between  her  and  Jenny ;  for  Jenny  had  been  told  by 
Miss  Milicent  to  keep  the  bits,  and  give  them  to  the  poor 
people  who  were  down  in  Mr.  Richardson's  list.  Miss  Mili- 
cent had  interfered,  and  been  angry ;  but  I  suppose  she  did 
not  see  that  she  had  no  one  to  thank  for  the  storms  but  her- 
self. I  told  Jenny  plainly  that  I  thought  she  ought  not  to 
give  in  to  Mrs.  Temple,  but  go  to  Miss  Milicent  at  once, 
whenever  such  things  were  done,  and  she  promised  me  she 
would  ;  but  she  was  a  weak  kind  of  woman,  and  I  could  not 
reckon  much  upon  her  words.  Then  she  complained  of 
Fanny,  who  was  made  much  of  by  Mrs.  Temple,  because  she 
waited  upon  her.  Fanny  was  always  a  little  inclined  to  be 
set  up,  and  Mrs.  Temple  had  turned  her  into  a  kind  of  lady's 
maid,  for  she  and  Cotton  had  quarrelled,  and  Cotton  would 
do  nothing  for  her.  Fanny  dressed  Mrs.  Temple  in  the 
morning,  and  was  learning  to  do  her  hair,  and  Mrs.  Temple 
talked  to  her  all  the  time ;  and  Fanny,  it  seemed,  was  begin- 
ning to  think  herself  a  great  person.  Oh,  dear,  the  mischief 
that  one  tiresome  woman  may  do  in  a  house  ! 

I  did  not  say  half  nor  a  quarter  of  what  I  thought  about 
it  all,  but  I  went  up-stairs  to  Mrs.  Weir  in  no  very  pleasant 
humour.  The  ill-feeling  vanished  directly  I  saw  her.  She 
was  by  herself,  which  was  a  great  relief,  and  looking  so 
sweet  and  kind — but  thin,  and  I  fancied  rather  harassed. 

"  I  heard  you  were  here  half  an  hour  ago,  Ursula,"  she 
said,  as  I  went  up  to  her  sofa,  "  and  I  have  been  hoping  you 
would  come  up  to  me ;  but  my  niece  said  you  were  gone  back 
part  of  the  way  to  the  Parsonage,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that 
was  pleasant  for  you." 

"  Mr.  Richardson  wished  to  speak  to  me,  Ma'am,"  I 
said ;  "  that  was  the  reason  I  went.  I  hoped  you  had  not 
been  told  I  was  come.     I  know  you  don't  like  waiting." 

"  I  am  afraid,  Ursula,  I   do  not  like  many  things.     I 


222  URSULA. 

have  wished  to  see  you  often  since  you  went  away ;  but  you 
have  not  been  able,  I  suppose,  to  take  so  long  a  walk." 

I  was  just  a  little  chilled  by  her  manner,  and  answered, 
"  I  have  not  stirred  beyond  the  farm,  Ma'am,  except  to  go  to 
church  on  Sundays.  My  brother's  going  and  the  settling  in 
a  new  place  have  taken  up  all  my  time." 

"  Very  likely,  Ursula ;  but  you  promised ;  I  should  not 
have  thought  so  much  about  it  else." 

The  tone  was  a  little — a  very  little — impatient ;  but  the 
poor,  dear  lady  was  on  the  watch,  and  a  smile  came  over  her 
face  directly  after,  and  she  held  out  her  hand  to  me,  and 
said,  "  If  we  did  not  like  persons,  Ursula,  we  should  not  care 
how  long  they  stayed  away  from  us.  Will  you  sit  down  and 
tell  me  about  your  brother  ?  " 

And  I  did  sit  down,  and  told  her  everything  I  could 
think  of;  making  it  as  well  as  I  could  into  a  kind  of  story, 
for  that  was  what  she  liked.  She  was  no  great  talker, 
indeed,  talking  soon  tired  her  ;  but  she  enjoyed  listening,  and 
even  when  I  was  a  little  girl  I  was  in  the  habit  of  describing 
minutely  what  I  did  and  said,  yet  with  great  exactness,  for 
she  was  very  quick  and  particular,  and  always  stopped  me 
when  she  thought  I  was  in  the  least  exaggerating.  She  used 
to  say  to  me  that  the  habit  of  exaggeration  is  a  leak  in  a  per- 
son's character,  through  which  truth,  and  therefore  confi- 
dence, escape  unnoticed.  This  may  seem  rather  contrary  to 
what  I  said  before  of  her  liking  to  live  in  a  dream,  but  it  is 
not  so  really.  There  is  a  great  difference  between  inventing 
facts  and  arranging  them.  Mrs.  Weir  had  a  special  power  of 
the  latter  kind,  and  I  think  being  with  her  had  helped  me  a 
little  in  the  same  way,  for  it  certainly  was  not  in  me  by 
nature.  Her  eye  turned  to  what  was  bright  and  beautiful  in 
everything — mine,  I  am  afraid,  was  inclined  rather  to  the 
reverse.  If  we  had  both  looked  upwards  on  a  summer  day, 
her  gaze  would  have  rested  upon  the  blue  sky,  mine  would 
have  dwelt  upon  the  clouds. 

It  did  me  good  to  talk  about  Roger  and  my  new  life  in 
this  way ;  it  was  rather  like  reading  a  book,  and  took  ofi"  the 
hard  edge  from  my  troubles.  For  a  short  time  I  was  so 
carried  away  that  I  could  have  imagined  myself  back  again 
at  Dene ;  but  there  was  an  end  to  the  enjoyment  very  soon. 


URSULA.  223 

The  door  happened  to  be  open.  I  heard  in  the  passage  the 
kind  of  sweeping  rustle  which  always  accompanied  Mrs. 
Temple's  movements,  and  Mrs.  Weir's  attention  was  immedi- 
ately withdrawn  from  me,  and  she  said,  a  little  nervously,  "  I 
think,  Ursula,  you  had  better  explain  to  my  niece  why  you 
were  not  able  to  come  and  see  me  before.  She  thought  that 
it  seemed  unkind,  but  I  was  sure  that  it  was  not." 

Explain  to  Mrs.  Temple  !  Why  should  I  ?  My  proud 
temper  was  up  at  the  very  notion.  When  she  came  in  I 
would  willingly  have  left  the  room,  but  she  waved  her  hand 
graciously,  and  said,  "Sit  down,  Ursula,  don't  let  me  disturb 
you.     My  dear  aunt,  I  have  brought  you  your  medicine." 

"  It  is  a  tonic,  Ursula,"  said  Mrs.  Weir,  looking  at  me. 
"  My  niece  has  persuaded  me  to  try  it,  and  I  think  it  does 
me  a  gi-eat  deal  of  good." 

"  I  hope  it  may.  Ma'am,  "  I  said ;  though  I  could  scarcely 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  be  pleased  with  any  remedy  proposed 
by  Mrs.  Temple. 

Mrs.  Weir  smiled  as  she  used  to  when  I  was  a  child,  and 
she  wanted  to  put  good  thoughts  into  my  head.  "  I  pray 
that  it  may,  Ursula,"  she  said ;  ''  and  I  have  not  had  the  neu- 
ralgic pain  so  violently  since  I  have  tried  it,  so  I  have  great 
reason  to  be  tliankful." 

Mrs.  Teni]  le  chimed  in  with  a  sentence  of  the  same  kind  ; 
yet  what  I  listened  to  with  pleasure  and  profit  when  spoken 
by  Mrs.  Weir,  was  utterly  distasteful  to  me  when  uttered  by 
her  niece.  I>oubtless  it  was  the  sense  of  efi'ort  and  a  want 
of  reality.  Mrs.  Weir's  words  were  natural,  Mrs.  Temple's 
forced.  From  Mrs.  Weir  indeed  I  could  bear  anything. 
She  seemed  always  to  understand  how  and  when  to  introduce 
religion.  Sho  never  jarred  upon  me  by  dragging  it  in  at  a 
wrong  moment ;  and  I  was  then  much  more  sensitive  upon 
that  point  than  I  am  now.  Young  people  with  the  hopes  and 
joys  of  this  life  before  them  shrink  from  the  sudden  mention 
of  subjects  connected  with  Death  and  Eternity ;  but  when 
the  thought  of  Death  rises  with  us  in  the  morning,  and  lies 
down  with  us  at  night,  and  Eternity  is  the  long  day  on  which 
we  feel  that  we  have  even  now  entered,  there  is  no  moment  at 
which  a  reference  to  them  can  find  us  unprepared. 

Mrs.  Weir,  in  her  simple  way,  took  her  niece's  words  as 


224  URSULA. 

being  spoken  in  all  earnestness,  but  she  was  not  disposed  to 
say  much;  indeed,  I  could  not  help  perceiving  that  she  was 
less  at  ease  with  me  now  than  before  we  were  interrupted. 
Mrs.  Temple,  who  never  thought  it  possible  for  her  to  inter- 
rupt any  one,  sat  herself  down  opposite  to  us,  as  though  de- 
termined to  listen  to  what  we  were  saying.  I  was  resolved 
not  to  seem  awed  by  her,  so  I  went  on  with  something  I  had 
been  telling  Mrs.  Weir  about  Roger,  but  Mrs.  Temple 
scarcely  let  me  finish  my  sentence  before  she  broke  in 
with — 

"  My  dear  aunt,  forgive  me  for  reminding  you,  but  have 
you  spoken  to  Ursula  about  the  chess-board  ?  The  circum- 
stance requires  to  be  cleared  up." 

Mrs.  Weir's  pale  face  was  tinged  with  pink ;  the  nearest 
approach  to  excitement  which  ever  betrayed  itself.  "  It  is 
of  no  consequence,  Matilda ;  I  would  rather  nothing  should 
be  said  about  it." 

"  But  it  is  right,  my  dear  aunt ;  excuse  me,  but  such 
mysteries  ought  to  be  investigated." 

"  Do  you  mean,  Ma'am,  about  the  broken  chess-man  ?  "  I 
replied. 

"  Yes ;  you  see,  aunt,  she  knows  it ;  "  and  Mrs.  Temple 
was  put  quite  off  her  guard,  and  spoke  hurriedly.  "  We  have 
reason  to  complain,  Ursula,  that  it  was  not  mentioned  before. 
It  was  due  to  Mrs.  Weir  that  it  should  have  been,  and  it  has 
interfered  with  her  excellent  intentions ;  the  little  toy  is  quite 
useless  now,  and  it  might  have  been  turned  to  excellent 
account." 

"  But  it  does  not  signify,  Ursula,"  said  Mrs.  Weir,  gently  ; 
"  only  if  you  had  told  me  that  the  chess-man  was  broken  I 
should  have  have  been  less  sorry." 

"  Really,  Ma'am,"  I  exclaimed,  and  I  stood  up,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  looked  very  angry,  "  I  don't  understand  you." 

Mrs.  Temple's  voice  sank  to  the  softest  tone,  as  she 
answered,  for  her  aunt,  "  Restrain  yourself,  Ursula.  Re- 
collect that  agitation  may  do  harm." 

"  I  do  not  care  about  it,  Ursula,"  said  Mrs.  Weir,  her 
voice  shaking,  and  her  hand  trembling.  "  I  had  no  wish  to 
mention  the  subject ;  indeed  I  do  not  care.  I  cannot  bear 
to  vex  you."  She  took  hold  of  my  hand  and  looked  at  me 
quite  beseechingly. 


URSULA.  225 

"  Dear  Ma'am,"  I  said,  "  you  can't  vex  me.  I  could 
bear  anything  from  you ;  but,  if  you  please,  I  will  go  into 
another  room  and  have  my  say  with  Mrs.  Temple,  for  I  must 
know  what  she  thinks,  and  what  you  think  too." 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  any  such  explanation,"  replied 
Mrs.  Temple ;  "  we  only  wish  to  warn  you,  Ursula,  as  you 
are  setting  out  in  life  by  yourself,  that  openness  and  straight- 
forwardness will  gain  you  more  friends  than  the  contrary  line 
of  conduct." 

"  But  you  were  in  haste  when  you  left  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Weir,  "  and  you  were  unhappy ;  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  did 
not  remember  it,  Ursula;  if  you  please  we  will  think  no  more 
about  it." 

By  this  time  I  was  so  indignant  that  the  very  strength 
of  my  feelings  forced  me  to  try  and  put  a  restraint  upon 
them.  "  I  have  not  been  told  yet,  Ma'am,"  I  said,  "  what  I 
have  been  accused  of;  I  imagine  Mrs.  Temple  means  to  say 
that  I  was  like  a  naughty  child,  and,  having  broken  the 
chess-man,  did  not  like  to  mention  it.  I  may  have  broken  it, 
I  won't  say  that  I  did  not.  I  am  afraid  I  have  not  the 
knack  of  handling  such  delicate  things  properly,  but  I  had 
no  idea  of  having  done  it." 

"  Only  you  knew  what  we  meant  the  moment  the  subject 
was  brought  forward,"  said  Mrs.  Temple,  and  she  looked  at 
Mrs.  Weir  triumphantly. 

Was  it  in  human  nature  to  bear  such  an  aggravation 
quietly  ?  I  know  it  was  not  in  mine ;  and  it  was  in  no  gentle 
tone  that  I  answered,  "  If  you  would  have  the  goodness, 
Ma'am,  to  inquire  before  you  make  charges,  you  would  be 
more  likely  to  be  correct.  Miss  Miliceut  mentioned  that  the 
chess-man  was  broken,  and  that  was  the  first  I  heard  of  it. 
If  you  please.  Ma'am,"  I  added,  speaking  to  Mrs.  Weir,  "  I 
will  come  and  see  you  again  another  day,  for  I  am  sure  you  are 
quite  tired  now,  and  I  am  very  sorry  I  have  been  the  cause 
of  it." 

I  could  not  help  saying  this,  for  Mrs,  Weir  was  looking 
so  ill  from  nervousness  and  vexation  that  she  quite  fidgeted 
me.  Mrs.  Temple  suggested  that  she  would  be  the  better 
for  a  little  more  of  the  medicine,  and  made  me  pour  it  out 
whilst  she  gave  it.  She  made  no  answer  herself  to  anything 
Vol.  I.— 10* 


226  U  E  S  U  L  A  . 

I  had  said,  but  treated  me  coldly  and  haughtily,  whilst  Mrs. 
Weir,  whose  voice  was  quite  faint,  could  only  manage  to  say 
in  broken  sentences  :  "  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  right.  Ursula, 
if  you  will  come  again  soon,  I  shall  be  better,  I  dare  say. 
I  hope  you  will  hear  from  Mr.  Grant ;  you  will  please  to  let 
me  know  when  you  do." 

Explanation  and  conversation  were  out  of  the  question  in 
such  a  state  of  things,  and  as  for  staying  to  help  Mrs.  Weir, 
it  was  simply  useless.  Mrs.  Temple  had  stepped  into  all  her 
ways,  and  the  poor  lady  turned  to  her  as  naturally  as  she 
used  to  do  to  me.  I  stood  by  her  side  a  few  minutes,  and 
was  asked  to  fetch  a  shawl,  but  I  was  not  allowed  to  put  it 
over  her.  Evidently  I  had  no  further  business  with  her. 
Mrs.  Temple  said,  in  a  very  pointed  way :  "  My  aunt  has 
had  too  much  agitation,  Ursula ;  she  needs  perfect  rest,"  and 
all  I  could  do  was  to  wish  Mrs.  Weir  good-bye,  without  say- 
ing another  word. 

I  found  Miss  Milicent  waiting  for  me  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  :  —  "  Come  here,  Ursie,"  she  said ;  and  she  opened  the 
dining-room  door.  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you ;  you  have  no 
need  to  be  in  a  hurry,  I  told  Jenny  Dale  to  get  you  a  cup  of 
tea  before  you  went  back." 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you.  Miss  Milicent,"  I  replied,  "  but 
if  you  please  I  had  rather  go."  Instead  of  entering  the 
dining-room  I  drew  back. 

"  That's  perverse  of  you,  Ursie ;  I  have  a  great  deal  to 
say  to  you,  and  you  must  stay.  What  have  you  paid  such  a 
short  visit  for  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Weir  was  tired,"  I  replied ;  "  and  I  think.  Miss 
Milicent,  that  having  Mrs.  Temple  and  me  together  was  too 
much  for  her." 

"  Oh  !  that  is  the  matter,  is  it  ?  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  I  was 
sure  by  your  face  something  had  gone  wrong ;  but,  Ursie,  I 
told  you  how  it  would  be  if  you  went  away,  so  you  have  no 
one  to  thank  but  yourself." 

"  And  Mrs.  Temple,"  I  could  not  help  adding.  "  Indeed, 
Miss  Milicent,  I  cant  believe  that  anything  would  be  wrong 
if  she  was  away." 

"  Come  in ;  why  will  you  stand  talking  in  the  passage? ' 
She  seized  my  dress  and  actually  forced  me  to  enter,  shut- 


URSULA.  227 

ting  the  door  behind  her.  "  Now  sit  down,  and  hear  what  I 
have  to  say,  Ursie  Grant;  it  is  all  your  doing,  and,  what  is 
more,,  worse  things  will  come.  She  is  rooted  here;  she 
never  would  have  been  that  if  you  had  remained.  You 
would  have  made  the  house  too  hot  to  hold  her." 

I  did  not  think  that  much  of  a  compliment,  I  confess, 
but,  before  I  could  reply.  Miss  Milicent  continued :  "  She 
has  been  working  at  my  mother  ever  since  you  went  away, 
putting  things  into  her  head ;  and  my  mother,  as  you  know 
well  enough,  always  takes  what  is  given  her  without  asking 
questions ;  so  Matilda  has  had  it  all  her  own  way.  No  use 
for  me  to  say  anything,  even  if  I  had  time,  and  I  have  been 
very  busy.  Mr.  Temple  has  been  finding  out  new  creatures 
for  my  glass,  and  he  and  I  have  been  down  on  the  shore  a 
good  deal ;  and  twice  a  week  there  is  a  class  of  ploughboys 
and  such  like,  who  come  to  me  to  learn  to  write  and  cipher; 
and  all  that,  to  say  nothing  of  putting  the  house  to  rights, 
has  taken  up  more  time  than  I  can  say.  So  you  see  there 
has  been  no  one  to  interfere  with  Matilda  Temple,  and  the 
end  is  that  she  has  bewitched  my  mother,  who  can't  get  on 
without  her.  Then  the  servants  have  all  been  at  sixes  and 
sevens.  Cotton  and  Matilda  Temple  have  quarrelled,  and 
Jenny  Dale  threatens  to  leave,  and  what  is  to  become  of  us 
all  I  don't  know,  for  Fanny,  poor  silly  thing,  says  she  can't 
do  the  work  she  used  because  she  wants  time  to  read  Mrs. 
Temple's  books.  If  it  was  not  for  the  girl  from  the  school 
who  is  to  come  now,  we  might  just  stand  still  altogether." 

I  did  not  sec  Avhat  Miss  Milicent  meant  by  standing  still ; 
I  always  had  a  notion  that  there  was  no  standing  still  in 
this  life, — that  it  was  always  going  on,  in  some  form  or 
other ;  the  difference  being  only  whether  you  drove  yourself, 
or  let  others  drive  you. 

But  Miss  Milicent  continued,  and  my  ideas  became 
clearer.  "  It's  a  great  trouble,  all  this,  Ursie,  and  if  you 
were  here,  as  I  said  before,  it  wouldn't  have  happened.  But 
there  is  a  new  notion  come  up,  which  Matilda  Temple  thinks 
is  to  set  everything  right,  and  I  should  just  like  to  know  your 
opinion  about  it." 

"  For  Mrs.  Temple  to  go  and  live  at  Stonecliff?"  I 
said. 


228  U  K  S  U  L  A  . 

"  Now,  who  told  you  that  ?  How  things  do  get  about ! 
But  it  is  not  that  exactly.  She  is  wild  to  go  there  herself, 
but  she  and  her  husband  can't  go  alone  because  of  the  ex- 
pense ;  and  she  wants  us  to  join  housekeeping,  and  share  the 
rent  between  us." 

"  Live  together  !  "  I  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  amazement. 
"  Oh,  Miss  Milicent !  " 

"  I  knew  what  you  would  say,"  she  replied,  in  a  disap- 
pointed tone.  "  I  told  her  that  I  was  sure  any  one  who 
knew  the  ways  of  the  house, — and  I  mentioned  you  particu- 
larly,— would  decide  that  it  couldn't  be.  But  she  took  the 
high  hand  then,  and  said  she  didn't  know  why  we  were  to 
trouble  ourselves  with  the  opinions  of  this  person  or  that ; 
what  we  chose  to  do  ourselves  was  the  question." 

"  Mrs.  Temple  was  right  there.  Miss  Milicent,"  I  replied. 
"  It  could  not  be  of  consequence  what  I,  or  any  one  in  my 
position,  might  say,  though,  of  course,  we  are  at  liberty  to 
form  an  opinion  for  ourselves ;  and  I  can't  but  think  you 
would  do  better  if  you  never  mentioned  my  name  to  Mrs. 
Temple." 

"  She  can't  abide  you,  Ursie  Grant,  and  that's  a  fact," 
said  Miss  Milicent,  thrusting  her  hands  into  the  pockets  of 
her  jacket;  "I  don't  know  what  you  have  done  to  spite 
her." 

"  Let  her  see  that  I  don't  like  her,  I  suppose.  Miss  Mili- 
cent," I  replied ;  "  there  can't  be  a  greater  offence  than  that 
for  any  one." 

Miss  Milicent  laughed.  "  Matilda  might  hate  me,  too,  if 
it  was  only  that,"  she  said ;  "  but,  anyhow,  we  are  neither  of 
us  in  her  good  books  just  now,  for  I  kept  back  in  giving  an 
opinion  about  this  new  plan,  and  I  said  I  should  talk  it  over 
with  you,  just  because  you  knew  my  mother  so  much  better 
than  any  one  else." 

Those  blundering  ways  !  Miss  Milicent  could  have  done 
nothing  worse,  either  for  herself  or  me. 

"  If  you  will  excuse  my  saying  so,"  I  replied,  "  I  think, 
Miss  Milicent,  you  made  a  mistake  there.  As  for  this  new 
plan,  you  really  must  be  the  judge  yourself  I  dou't  know 
how  the  money  matters  would  answer,  and  I  can't  pretend  to 
say  whether  Mrs.  Weir  would  like  it." 


UKSULA.  229 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  that,"  she  replied  ;  "  my  mother 
is  like  a  child  in  giving  up,  and  certainly  Matilda  does  know 
how  to  manage  her.  She  has  got  her  to  dress  an  hour  ear- 
lier since  you  went  away ;  and  yesterday  my  mother  actually 
went  for  a  drive  for  the  first  time  since  we  came  here.  I 
should  never  have  thought  of  the  plan  for  a  moment,  if  I  had 
not  felt  that  it  would  be  lonely  for  her  when  the  Temples 
were  gone." 

"  Then  the  money  question  is  the  only  difficulty,"  I  said. 
"  Perhaps,  Miss  Milicent,  your  lawyer  could  help  you  about 
that  better  than  I  can." 

"  You  have  a  twist,  Ursie  Grant;  you  don't  like  the  plan, 
and  you  won't  say  it  out  like  an  honest  woman." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  saying  it  out,"  I  replied.  "  I 
don't  like  the  plan,  Miss  Milicent;  but  my  liking  or  dis- 
liking has  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

It  had,  though ;  more  than  I  could  at  the  moment  see. 
Miss  Milicent's  conscience  was  uneasy,  and  she  wanted  sup- 
port. She  felt  that  she  was  putting  ease  for  the  present  be- 
fore what  would  be  good  in  the  long  run  ;  that  is  what  many 
of  us  do. 

"  And  why  don't  you  like  it  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  have  to  speak  plainly,"  I  re- 
plied ;  "  but.  Miss  Milicent,  I  don't  think  that  mixing  two 
families  together  ever  answers,  unless  it  is  so  ordered  by 
God  that  it  cannot  be  helped ;  and  then  His  blessing  goes 
with  it,  and  makes  things  smooth." 

"  Wo  shouldn't  quarrel,"  said  Miss  Milicent;  "  we  have 
not  quarrelled  now.  I  should  keep  house,  and  Matilda  Tem- 
ple would  look  after  my  mother." 

I  smiled.  This  reversing  of  duties  reminded  me  of  what 
had  passed  in  my  own  mind  when  I  disliked  going  to  Sand- 
combe.  I  could  not  help  saying,  "  That  sounds  very  much, 
Miss  Milicent,  as  though  you  were  Mr.  Temple's  wife,  and 
Mrs.  Temple  was  Mrs.  Weir's  daughter." 

"  It  might  have  been  better  if  it  had  been  so,"  she  said ; 
"  not  that  1  could  have  married  a  little  man  like  Mr.  Tem- 
ple ;  he  is  too  meek;  but  we  get  on  very  well  together." 

"  They  are  on  a  visit,"  I  replied.  "  People  on  a  visit  and 
people  at  home  are  very  different." 


230  URSULA. 

"  It  would  give  me  time  to  help  Mrs.  Richardson,"  con- 
tinued Miss  Milicent ;  "  and  if  Matilda  Temple  had  a  larger 
house,  she  could  have  a  friend  or  two  occasionally  to  see  her, 
and  that  would  help  to  amuse  my  mother." 

Or  rather,  as  I  could  not  help  saying  to  myself,  save  Miss 
Milicent  the  trouble  of  doing  it.  The  whole  scheme  seemed 
to  me  so  silly,  that  I  had  scarcely  patience  to  talk  of  it.  I 
was  silent  for  a  few  seconds,  and,  indeed,  looked  towards  the 
door,  as  though  I  intended  to  go. 

"  Speak  out !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Milicent ;  "  I  know  you 
have  a  good  opinion  of  your  own  judgment,  Ursie  Grant." 

"  No,  indeed.  Miss  Milicent,"  I  answered ;  "  I  have  had 
too  much  experience  of  it  lately  to  have  a  good  opinion  of 
it.  I  could  not  say  that  the  plan  is  a  wrong  one,  or  that  it 
mayn't  be  a  comfort  to  Mrs.  Weir,  or  set  you  more  free. 
But  I  do  think  that  it  is  against  the  common  ways  of  the 
world,  and,  in  a  measure,  of  the  Bible,  too,  and  so  I  don't 
think  it  will  answer." 

"  The  Bible  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  well,  that  is  too  foolish  ! 
What  has  the  Bible  to  do  with  our  taking  StonecliiF?  " 

"  You  know.  Miss  Milicent,"  I  replied,  "  that  when  God 
ordered  men  to  marry  he  told  them  that  they  were  not  only 
to  cleave  to  their  wives,  but  to  leave  their  fathers  and 
mothers.  It  strikes  me  that  must  have  meant  that  they 
were  to  live  distinct,  what  we  call  setting  up  housekeeping 
for  themselves.  And  being  placed  in  separate  families,  I  sup- 
pose we  should  do  well  to  remain  so." 

"  It  is  no  argument,  at  all,"  exclaimed  Miss  Milicent.  "If 
people  were  to  act  in  that  way,  the  world  couldn't  go  on." 

I  did  not  feel  that  it  was  an  argument;  a  great  deal 
might  be  said  against  it ;  but  I  did  think  it  a  kind  of  hint, 
and  I  knew  that  it  was  safer  to  follow  God's  hints  than  man's 
reasons.  But  Miss  Milicent  was  not  a  person  whom  any 
one  could  really  talk  to  with  any  hope  of  convincing  her. 
That  one  great  omission  in  her  duties — her  neglect  of  her 
mother — had  warped  her  mind.  She  never  dared  look  her 
own  motives  in  the  face ;  and  so,  though  naturally  truth- 
telling  and  open,  she  had  got  into  a  way  of  deceiving  her- 
self. She  did  not  like  Mrs.  Temple ;  she  neither  trusted 
nor  respected  her  ;  but  she  liked  anything  better  than  hav- 


U  K  S  U  L  A  .  231 

ing  her  time  taken  up  by  attending  upon  her  mother ;  and 
so  she  smoothed  it  all  over,  and  thought  she  was  only  wish- 
ing to  do  what  would  be  best  for  every  one,  and  make  Mrs. 
Weir  most  comfortable.  She  would  not,  however,  say  this, 
when  she  found  that  I  did  not  give  in;  she  kept  on  repeat- 
ing that  it  was  only  an  idea,  it  might  never  come  to  anything. 
Mrs.  Temple  might  change  her  mind ;  Mrs.  Weir  might  not 
like  it.  But  I  knew  in  my  heart  that  it  would  come,  even 
if  it  had  been  twenty  times  as  objectionable.  I  knew  it  as 
surely  as  we  may  all  know  by  experience,  that  the  proposal 
which  is  brought  forward  year  after  year,  by  those  who  rule 
the  nation,  let  it  be  never  so  contrary  to  long  established 
custom,  or  even  justice  and  religion,  will  in  the  end  become 
law,  because  people  will  have  become  accustomed  to  it.  If 
Miss  Milicent  had  been  told  the  first  night  of  Mrs.  Temple's 
arrival,  that  she  could  ever  have  endured  the  prospect  of 
living  with  her,  she  would  have  said  it  was  impossible. 
Watching  the  course  of  the  world,  I  have  often  thought,  that 
if  we  could  see  the  devil  himself  frequently,  we  should  at 
last  learn  to  like  him. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

And  so  I  went  back  to  Sandcombe, — with  what  feelings 
of  vexation  and  disappointment  there  is  no  need  to  say. 
Miss  Milicent  pressed  my  having  tea,  but  I  had  no  heart  to 
stay.  Perhaps  I  was  more  worried  than  I  ought  to  have 
been ;  and  if  I  could  have  thrown  off  all  care  for  Mrs.  Weir 
and  her  concerns,  it  might  have  been  the  happier  for  me. 
But  it  was  not  in  my  nature  to  do  that ;  I  did  really  love 
her ;  I  would  have  done  anything  in  my  power  to  comfort 
her ;  whilst  I  dare  say  there  was  something  of  wounded  pride, 
in  the  knowledge  that  now  I  was  no  longer  necessary  to  her. 
As  an  especial  aggravation,  came  the  consciousness  that  with 
all  her  goodness  she  was  very  likely  to  be  prejudiced,  and 
that  nothing  would  be  more  easy  than  for  Mrs.  Temple  to 
continue  to  insinuate  things  to  my  disadvantage, — even  as 
she  had  already  begun.  I  had  said  nothing  to  Miss  Milicent 
about  the  broken  chess-man,  I  felt  ashamed  of  justifying  my- 


232  URSULA, 

self  from  such  a  charge ;  but  I  made  up  my  mind  not  to  go 
to  the  Heath  again  for  some  time,  lest  I  might  give  some 
fresh  cause  of  otfence  ;  and  especially  I  resolved  to  wait  until 
some  more  settled  plan  had  been  decided  about  Stonecliff. 
I  had  no  confidence  in  Miss  Milicent's  tact  or  discretion ; 
and  I  was  sure  that  what  I  said  was  likely  to  be  repeated  to 
Mrs.  Temple,  and  by  her  to  be  turned  in  some  way  against 
me.  The  visit  did  me  good,  however,  in  one  way ;  it  kept 
me  from  pining  after  my  former  life,  and  enabled  me  to  sit 
down  more  contentedly  to  my  duties  at  Sandcombe ;  and 
these  soon  became  quite  sufficient  to  occupy  me  thoroughly. 

Leah,  as  I  expected,  took  kindly  enough  to  the  notion  of 
a  school-girl  coming  to  help, — that  was  the  way  she  talked 
of  it,  and  I  could  not  put  any  other  idea  into  her  head, 
though  I  knew  well  enough  that  the  help  which  a  girl  of 
that  age  could  give  was  much  less  than  the  trouble  of  look- 
ing after  her.  Still  I  felt  it  was  right  to  aid  Mrs.  Richard- 
son if  possible.  The  three  head  girls  in  the  school  were  to 
go  out  at  once.  Mrs.  Kemp  was  to  take  one  ;  another  was 
to  work  at  the  Parsonage;  and  Esther  Smithson  was  to 
come  to  us.  The  plan  was  not  actually  carried  out  till  after 
harvest,  when  we  were  obliged  to  have  extra  help.  Up  to 
that  time  we  had  a  girl  on  baking  and  washing  and  brewing 
days ;  but  the  maid  and  I  managed  to  do  all  the  rest  of  the 
work,  of  course  with  the  assistance  of  Leah ;  who,  to  say  the 
truth,  was  not  so  much  a  fine  lady  as  selfish  and  disposed  to 
be  lazy.  I  did  not  dislike  the  life ;  indeed  I  should  have 
been  fond  of  it,  if  I  had  been  living  with  people  who  under- 
stood and  gave  me  sympathy.  But  it  was  all  business  and 
money-getting  from  morning  till  night ;  the  very  clods  of 
earth  seemed  to  be  looked  at  only  with  the  thought  of  how 
they  might  be  turned  into  bank  notes  and  gold.  Yet  it  was 
only  for  a  year,  I  said  to  myself,  and  when  I  had  received 
Roger's  first  letter,  telling  me  he  had  arrived  in  Canada,  and 
was  making  himself  useful  to  the  gentleman  who  took  him 
out,  and  looking  out  for  the  best  means  of  settling  himself 
permanently,  I  felt  as  if  half  the  time  of  separation  was 
over. 

One  thing  I  felt  about  Sandcombe  was  that  it  was  very 
out  of  the  way.     To  be  sure  the  same  might  have  been  said 


URSULA.  233 

of  Dene,  but  there  I  had  interest  enough  in  the  place  and  the 
people,  never  to  wish  to  go  further,  except  to  Longside, 
where  I  was  always  welcome.  At  Sandcombe,  though  Leah 
often  went  out,  and  sometimes  had  friends  to  tea,  there  were 
none  whom  I  cared  particularly  to  meet;  and  indeed,  as 
often  as  not,  Leah  would  make  the  excuse  of  my  being  at 
home  for  William  and  herself  to  go  out  and  leave  me 
behind. 

It  was  about  half-past  four  o'clock  one  afternoon,  just  in 
the  beginning  of  September ;  I  had  been  sitting  at  work  by 
myself,  making  a  silk  jacket  for  Jane  Shaw,  whose  wedding- 
was  to  come  off  in  about  three  weeks,  and  who  had  asked  me 
to  do  some  little  things  she  had  not  time  for  herself,  and  did 
not  choose  to  put  into  the  hands  of  a  town  dress-maker.  I 
was  enjoying  being  alone,  and  counting  the  days  till  I  could 
hear  again  from  lloger ;  Leah  had  been  in  and  out  of  the 
parlour  all  the  afternoon,  doing  first  one  thing  and  then 
another ;  and  a  few  words  with  her,  and  the  farm-house 
sounds,  which  I  always  liked  particularly,  prevented  me 
from  feeling  lonely,  especially  as  I  was  very  intent  upon  my 
work,  wishing  to  finish  it  that  evening.  Presently  Leah 
came  in  to  me  in  a  hurry,  and  said,  "  Ursie,  there's  a  chaise 
coming  down  the  lane ;  I  do  think  it  must  be  the  Kemps. 
I  wish  you  would  just  go  and  skim  the  milk  for  me,  for 
Martha  is  too  busy,  and  you  must  mind  and  bring  in 
cream  enough  for  tea.  If  it  is  the  Kemps  they  will  be  sure 
to  stay." 

This  was  a  little  instance  of  the  kind  of  thing  Leah  was 
constantly  doing.  She  knew  the  Kemps  always  came  par- 
ticularly to  see  me,  and  that  I  should  be  vexed  at  missing 
any  part  of  their  visit,  but  she  still  seized  upon  them  as  an 
excuse  for  making  me  do  her  duties.  I  said  nothing,  how- 
ever, but  put  down  my  work  directly,  and  went  to  the  dairy, 
looking  up  the  lane  as  I  passed  through  the  yard,  and  seeing 
Mrs.  Kemp  and  Mary  in  the  chaise,  and  John  Hervey  driv- 
ing them,  as  was  natural. 

I  was  detained  longer  in  the  dairy  than  I  intended,  for 
Martha  was  untidy  in  her  ways,  and  I  happened  to  see  the 
bucket  which  the  man  was  going  to  use  for  the  evening  milk- 
ing, and  it  was  not  properly  washed ;  so  I  had  to  find  fault, 


234  URSULA. 

which  was  what  I  very  much  disliked,  as  I  always  felt  that 
fault-finding  ought  never  to  be  the  business  of  more  than  one 
person  in  a  house.  Martha  was  cross,  too,  and  would  do  just 
contrary  to  what  I  wished.  She  saw  visitors,  and  knew  they 
were  likely  to  give  her  work  and  keep  her  in  the  house,  and 
I  was  sure  she  wanted  to  be  out  of  doors  gossiping,  a  thing 
which  she  particularly  liked,  and  I  especially  dreaded. 
Altogether  it  was  as  much  as  half  an  hour  before  I  could  get 
back  to  the  parlour. 

Leah  made  a  kind  of  apology  when  I  went  in,  and  said  she 
did  not  think  I  should  have  been  kept  so  long ;  "  but  you 
need  not  mind  so  much,  Ursie,"  she  added,  "  for  Mrs.  Kemp 
has  come  to  drink  tea." 

"  I  did  not  say  that,"  replied  Mrs.  Kemp,  good-naturedly ; 
"  though  a  cup  of  tea  never  comes  amiss.  But  the  days  are 
beginning  to  close  in,  and  we  must  not  be  late,  especially  as 
we  are  driving." 

John  Hervey  laughed,  and  said  that  was  a  slur  on  his 
driving.  He  could  make  his  way  over  the  hill  at  midnight, 
he  was  sure  ;  and  if  he  could  not,  the  horse  could,  which  was 
better. 

"  Fogs  are  worse  than  darkness,  I  always  think,"  said 
Mary  Kemp ;  "  and  there  is  one  coming  up  now  I  do 
believe." 

No  one  had  noticed  it  before,  yet  it  was  already  quite 
thick ;  but  that  was  the  way  with  those  sea  fogs,  they  rushed 
over  the  hill  all  of  a  sudden,  and  then  cleared  away,  as  it 
seemed,  without  any  cause. 

"  I  thought,  Ursie,"  said  John,  "  that  you  might  have 
been  at  Compton  lately,  which  was  one  reason  I  had  for 
coming  here.  I.  have  not  been  there  myself,  I  can't  tell  the 
time  when." 

"  Mrs.  Weir  is  going  to  take  Stoneclifi",  so  William  heard 
in  Hove,  on  Saturday,"  said  Leah.  "  But  Ursie  is  so  close, 
we  have  not  heard  it  from  her,  even  if  she  knows  it." 

Mr.  Hervey  only  remarked  that  he  never  believed  one 
half  of  what  he  heard  in  Hove. 

"  Had  not  I  better  go  and  see  about  tea  ?  "  I  asked,  for 
I  wanted  an  excuse  to  go  away.  I  never  liked  talking  about 
Mrs.  Weir  before  strangers. 


URSULA.  235 

"  Perhaps  you  might  as  well,"  said  Leah.  "  Here  is  the 
key  of  the  closet.  T  wish  you  would  bring  in  some  of  that 
pound  cake  which  William  is  so  fond  of.  I  should  like 
Mrs.  Kemp  to  taste  it." 

"  Pound  cake  of  your  making,  Ursie  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Kemp. 

"  Yes,"  I  said.  "  It  was  one  of  Mrs.  Mason's  receipts; 
but  Martha  was  careless  with  the  oven,  and  it  is  rather 
burnt." 

"  Martha  is  enough  to  plague  one's  life  out,"  said  Leah. 
"  If  we  were  not  going  to  try  this  new  girl  from  the  Comp- 
ton  school,  I  should  tell  William  we  must  send  her  away." 

"  When  is  your  new  girl  coming  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Kemp. 

"  To-morrow,  I  believe ;  isn't  it,  Ursie  ?  It  is  Ursie's 
concern.     She  has  undertaken  to  teach  hei*." 

"  Not  quite,"  I  replied.  "  I  said  I  would  look  after 
her  as  well  as  I  could  in  the  morning,  but  I  never  promised 
more." 

"  I  shall  wish  you  joy  if  she  is  like  our  girl,  Ursie,"  said 
Mary  Kemp;  "  she  is  duller  than  dull;  Kitty  Hobson  was 
a  treasure  to  her." 

"  And  what  has  become  of  Kitty  ?  "  asked  Leah. 

"  She's  gone  to  be  kitchen-maid  at  Mr.  Stewart's,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Kemp.  "  I  knew  the  cook,  and  she  promised  to 
look  after  her,  and  I  have  great  hopes  that  Kitty  will  turn 
out  well." 

"  More  than  I  have,"  said  Leah ;  "  but  girls  are  all 
alike.  I  dare  say  we  shan't  find  this  new  one  any  better 
than  the  rest." 

"  It  depends  upon  what  you  expect,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp. 
"  One  can't  put  old  heads  on  young  shoulders,  and  so  one 
must  make  up  one's  mind  to  take  trouble,  and  look  after 
them,  else  of  course  they  will  go  wrong.  I  was  obliged  to 
be  strict  with  Kitty,  for  when  she  came  to  Longside  first,  she 
was  out  in  the  yard  talking  at  all  hours ;  but  my  Mary  took 
her  in  hand,  and  gave  her  plenty  to  do,  and  saw  that  she  did 
it,  and  sent  her  to  bed  early,  before  the  men  and  boys  had 
their  supper,  and  by  the  time  she  left  us,  wo  had  worked  her 
out  of  a  good  many  of  her  idle  ways.  Then,  to  be  sure,  I 
must  say  Mary  has  a  way  with  her,"  added  Mrs.  Kemp', 


236  URSULA. 

with  a  mother's  pride.  "  She  used  to  make  the  girl  read  to 
her  on  Sundays ;  and  now  and  then  Kitty  sat  with  her  and 
helped  in  the  house  needle-work,  and  that  gave  her  a  notion 
of  being  more  tidy  and  respectable  in  her  ways.  It  was 
giving  her  a  lift  in  the  world,  which  I  suppose  is  what  we  all 
want." 

I  had  lingered  to  hear  what  Mrs.  Kemp  was  saying, 
hoping  to  gain  some  hints  for  myself,  but  I  saw  Leah  look 
impatient,  and  indeed  time  was  running  on  fast,  and,  much 
against  my  inclination,  I  went  to  get  tea. 

I  did  not  notice  that  John  Hervey  followed  me,  but,  as  I 
was  taking  the  cake  out  of  the  closet,  he  came  behind  me, 
and  quite  startled  me  by  offering  to  carry  it  for  me. 

"  You  don't  want  me,"  he  said,  laughing,  as  he  noticed 
my  look  of  surprise. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  think  I  do,"  I  replied ; 
"  Leah  is  not  fond  of  having  persons  spying  about  her  cup- 
boards." 

"  I  don't  want  to  look  at  the  cupboard,  I  only  want  to 
have  a  few  words  with  you,  Ursie ;  and  there  is  no  chance  of 
our  being  alone,  that  I  can  see.  Have  you  heard  about  Mrs. 
Weir  and  Stonecliff?" 

"  Since  you  ask,"  I  replied,  "  I  must  needs  say  I  have; 
but  it  is  no  business  of  mine." 

He  stood  thinking ;  then  he  said,  "  It  won't  f  .vsie, 
and  it  ought  to  be  prevented." 

"  Who  is  to  prevent  it  ?  "  I  said.  "  What  business  have 
either  you  or  I  with  it  ?  " 

"  With  me  it's  just  this,"  he  answered.  "  Mrs.  Weir's 
family  have  always  been  very  kind  to  my  family ;  and  if  it 
was  not  for  them  I  shouldn't  be  where  »I  am.  She  is  left 
here  to  manage  for  herself,  with  no  more  knowledge  than  a 
baby  what  to  do ;  and  Miss  Milicent  not  much  wiser ;  and 
so,  if  one  sees  them  likely  to  make  a  blunder,  one  would 
fain,  if  one  could,  stop  them." 

"  If  you  mean  as  regards  money,"  I  said,  "  Miss  Mili- 
cent is  not  likely  to  be  misled  there  ;  she  has  a  sharp  eye." 

"  Not  so  sharp  as  Mrs.  Temple,"  said  John ;  "  she  wUl 
squeeze  every  penny  out  of  them,  if  they  live  together,  and 
make  her  share  of  expenses  a  third,  instead  of  half.     I  know 


URSULA,  237 

her  of  old,  for  I  have  had  dealings  with  her.  Ursie,  you 
must  try  and  talk  over  Miss  Milicent." 

"  Not  I,"  I  replied.  "  I  have  given  up  trying  to  talk 
over  any  one.     The  world  must  go  its  own  way." 

A  cloud  came  over  his  face.  "  That  is  not  as  you  used 
to  talk,  Ursie,"  he  said.  "  I  remember  the  time  when  you 
would  have  made  any  venture  to  be  of  use  to  such  a  friend 
as  Mrs.  Weir  has  been  to  you." 

"  That  was  when  I  was  young,"  I  said,  trying  to  laugh, 
though  my  heart  was  heavy.     "  I  have  grown  wiser  since." 

"  It  can't  be  wisdom  to  let  people  go  to  ruin  without 
stretching  out  a  hand-to  save  them,"  he  replied. 

"  Who  is  to  say  it  is  ruin  ?  "  I  replied ;  "  I  am  sure  I 
couldn't.  Indeed,  Mr.  Hervey,  we  must  leave  Mrs.  Weir  to 
manage  her  own  concerns ;  or,  if  any  one  is  to  interfere,  it 
can't  be  myself" 

"  It  won't  be,"  he  said,  rather  quickly.  "  Well !  Ursie, 
I  didn't  think  you  were  so  changeable." 

I  turned  round  upon  him  at  the  word.  "  Changeable  !  " 
I  exclaimed ;  "  I  am  sure  I  have  never  shown  myself  so." 

"  One  week  bent  upon  living  with  Mrs.  Weir,  and  the 
next  not  troubling  yourself  to  go  near  her,  and  not  willing  to 
put  yourself  out  of  your  way  to  serve  her,"  he  said ;  "  I 
don't  know  what  you  call  that  but  changeable." 

"  I  know  what  I  call  fault-finding  without  reason  or 
knowledge,  Mr.  Hervey,"  I  said ;  for,  my  proud  temper 
being  roused,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  explain  what  made 
me  seem  changeable. 

He  turned  off  with  a  laugh ;  but  I  noticed  that,  instead 
of  going  back  to  the  parlour,  he  went  out  into  the  garden  ; 
and  my  conscience  reproached  mo,  for  I  knew  I  had  been 
wrong.  Still  he  had  no  business  to  take  me  to  task  in  that 
way ;  and  it  was  talking  in  ignorance  to  suppose  that  I  had 
any  power  to  prevent  Mrs.  Weir  and  Miss  Milicent  from 
doing  whatever  they  wished.  I  fancied  that  I  had  some 
right  to  be  cross  with  him,  and  I  was  cross,  and  said  to  my- 
self that,  with  all  his  good-natured  looks  and  ways,  he  was 
much  more  fond  of  ordering  and  correcting  than  Roger.  So 
far,  Mary  Kemp  was  well  fitted  to  him.  She  would  obey 
him  without  a  word.  As  for  me,  I  had  not  yet  thoroughly 
learnt  to  obey  any  one. 


238  U  K  S  U  L  A  . 

Leah  was  quite  put  out  when  I  went  back,  I  had  been  so 
long  getting  tea.     She  asked  me  what  I  had  been  doing. 

"  Talking  to  John  Hervey,"  said  Mary  Kemp,  laughing  ; 
"I  saw  them  together." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied ;  "  Mr.  Hervey  came  out  after  me,  and 
we  had  a  few  words  together ;  but  I  should  have  been 
quicker,  only  the  water  did  not  boil." 

"  I  don't  think  it  boils  now,"  said  Leah,  pouring  out  a  cup 
of  tea.  "  There's  no  strength  in  the  tea.  Come,  Mrs.  Kemp, 
take  your  seat ;  and  Mary,  there's  a  place  for  you.  Ursie, 
just  run  out  into  the  yard,  will  you  ?  and  tell  William  to 
come  ;  he's  sure  to  be  there." 

I  did  as  I  was  asked,  and  turning  the  corner  of  the  house 
sharply,  I  came  full  upon  John  Hervey. 

"  Friends,  Ursie,"  he  said,  and  he  held  out  his  hand  to 
me. 

"  Friends,  if  you  will,"  I  answered ;  "  but  I  didn't 
know  we  were  enemies,  Mr.  Hervey." 

"  Well !  not  quite  enemies,"  he  said  smiling;  "only  just 
inclined  to  snap  at  one  another.  But,  Ursie,  you  will  have 
a  thought  for  Mrs.  Weir,  if  possible  ?  " 

He  seemed  the  most  pertinacious  man  I  had  ever  met 
with,  the  most  determined  to  carry  his  point ;  and  so,  out  of 
a  mere  spirit  of  contradiction,  I  answered  :  "  I  have  a  great 
many  thoughts  for  Mrs.  Weir  always,  Mr.  Hervey.  Whether 
I  shall  have  many  words  is  quite  another  question." 

"  You  are  a  perverse  body,"  he  said,  lightly  ;  and  he  went 
into  the  house,  leaving  me  vexed  that  I  had  not  been  able  to 
vex  him  more.  It  was  not  that  I  didn't  like  and  respect 
him  heartily,  but  I  believe  nothing  provokes  us  women  more 
than  to  find  that  we  can't  tease  when  we  wish  to  do  so. 

Tea  was  rather  hurried  over,  for  the  fog  was  becoming 
heavier.  William  said  they  had  better  wait  for  the  chance 
of  its  clearing  off  after  the  sun  went  down,  but  Mrs.  Kemp 
thought  the  farmer  would  be  fidgety,  and  they  had  better  get 
home  as  soon  as  they  could.  She  pressed  me  very  much 
to  go  and  spend  a  day  with  them  at  Longside,  but  Leah  de- 
clared I  couldn't  be  spared.  The  new  girl  was  coming,  and 
I  should  be  wanted  to  teach  her. 

"  Look  after  her,  more  than  teach  her,  Ursie,"  said  Mrs 


URSULA.  239 

Kemp  to  me,  in  a  low  voice,  which  Leah  couldn't  hear. 
"  And,  lassie,  if  you  can  with  truth,  give  her  a  little  praise 
at  first  setting  off.  The  Farmer  says  it's  needful  for  us  all, 
as  capital  to  begin  the  world  with." 

Mary  Kemp  was  anxious  to  go  ;  she  was  rather  a  coward, 
and  if  the  fog  continued,  she  declared  they  were  as  likely  as 
not  to  miss  their  way.  But,  in  spite  of  all  she  could  say, 
Mr.  Hervey  would  linger  to  say  a  few  words  to  me  about 
Roger.  I  had  forgotten  my  perverseness,  and  was  very  glad 
to  talk  to  him  upon  the  subject  nearest  my  heart,  but 
I  could  not  help  thinking  that  he  was  not  as  mindful  of 
Mary  as  he  might  have  been,  and  it  give  me  the  first  really 
uncomfortable  feeling  I  had  ever  had  about  him  ;  a  misgiving 
lest,  after  all,  he  might  be  selfish,  and  even  rather  cold,  in 
spite  of  his  hearty,  pleasant  ways. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Esther  Smithson  was  at  Sandcombe  the  next  morning 
by  half-past  six  o'clock :  that  was  as  early  as  could  be  ex- 
pected, for  she  had  a  good  way  to  walk.  Leah  took  it  as  a 
matter  of  course  that  I  was  to  be  down-stairs  to  look  after 
her,  and  I  was  not  sorry  for  it,  as  it  enabled  me  at  once  to  ar- 
range her  work,  so  as  to  put  her  to  that  which  was  most  fitting 
for  her.  I  found  her  untidy,  but  clever  and  willing.  From 
the  first  I  was  determined  that  she  should  not  be  made  a 
mere  drudge  to  wait  upon  the  men,  and  Martha  and  I  had  a 
little  fight  upon  the  subject  that  very  morning,  but  I  gained 
my  point.  My  mother  would  have  been  particular  about  me, 
and  it  was  my  duty  to  be  particular  about  Esther,  all  the 
more  because  she  came  of  an  idle  family,  and  was  likely  to 
have  a  bad  example  set  her  at  home.  But  I  was  not  to  have 
my  own  way  quite  so  easily.  When  the  morning  work  was 
over,  and  William,  and  Leah,  and  I,  sat  down  to  dinner, 
Leah  said  to  me,  "  Well  !  Ursie,  what  do  you  think  of 
Esther  ?  is  she  likely  to  do  ?  " 

"  It  is  early  to  judge,"  I  replied,  "  but  she  seems  willing 
and  handy.     She  set  out  the  breakfast-things  quite  cleverly." 


240  URSULA. 

"  Set  out  the  breakfast-things  !  "  exclaimed  Leah;  "  you 
don't  mean  to  say  she  has  been  in  here  this  morning  ?  "  and 
she  looked  round  the  room  with  a  turn  of  her  lip,  as  though 
she  had  seen  something  disagreeable, 

"  It  was  part  of  her  business,"  I  said  ;  "  I  saw  how  she  did 
it,  and  took  care  that  she  was  tidy  and  clean  in  her  ways ; 
and  I  found  her  very  willing  to  learn." 

William  spoke  now,  and  quite  in  Leah's  tone.  "  I  must 
tell  you  once  for  all,  Ursie,  for  it  is  better  to  come  to  an  un- 
derstanding plainly,  I  don't  want  your  dirty,  slatternly 
school-girls  fussing  about  in  my  parlour.  They  have  the 
kitchen  and  the  scullery  for  their  proper  place,  and  I  must 
beg  you  will  keep  them  there." 

"  But  Esther  is  come  to  learn  to  be  a  servant,"  I  said, 
"  and  she  can't  learn  if  she  is  not  put  in  the  way." 

"  She  is  come  to  make  herself  useful,"  said  Leah,  "and 
specially  to  take  the  odds  and  ends  of  work,  which  you,  and 
I,  and  Martha,  don't  choose  to  do." 

"  Mrs.  Richardson  doesn't  understand  this,"  was  my  reply. 
"  The  agreement  was  that  Esther  was  to  be  taught." 

"  And  she  will  be  taught,"  replied  Leah.  "  If  she  is  a 
girl  of  any  sense,  she  will  learn  of  her  own  accord  ;  and  if  she 
has  no  sense,  all  the  teaching  in  the  world  won't  give  her 

"  We  have  not  set  up  a  school  for  idiots,  yet,"  said  Wil- 
liam, with  a  short  laugh. 

"  It  is  what  Ursie  will  set  up  some  day,  I  do  believe,"  re- 
plied Leah. 

"  Mrs.  Mason  used  to  take  a  great  deal  of  pains  with  me, 
and  I  should  like  to  do  the  same  with  Esther,"  I  replied ; 
"  and  as  for  trying  to  teach,  unless  one  is  willing  to  make 
sacrifices,  it  seems  to  me  nonsense  to  attempt  it." 

"  Possibly,"  replied  Leah,  "  but  we  don't  profess  to  teach 
here  ;  the  teaching  has  been  done  at  Compton  school.  When 
girls  go  out  into  the  world,  they  must  learn  to  make  their 
own  way." 

"  Toss  them  in,  and  let  them  sink  or  swim  as  they  may," 
I  exclaimed,  rather  bitterly.  "  Leah,  that  was  not  your  case 
nor  mine." 

"  It  was  mine,"  exclaimed  Leah.      "  I  went  my  own  way 


URSULA.  241 

from  the  time  I  left  Mrs,  Prince's  school  at  Hove,  and  that 
was  when  I  was  fifteen,  just  a  few  months  older  than  Esther 
Smithson."  She  drew  herself  up  with  a  proud  air,  as  though 
defying  any  one  to  say  a  word  against  her. 

I  was  silent ;  it  was  no  use  to  continue  the  argument, 
and,  after  all,  Leah  was  mistress.  But,  in  my  own  mind,  I 
determined  that  if  I  found  it  really  impossible  to  be  of  use  to 
the  poor  child,  I  would  ask  Mrs.  Richardson  to  look  out  for 
another  situation  for  her. 

Leah  watched  me  narrowly,  after  that  conversation,  being 
afraid,  I  could  see,  that  I  was  going  to  make  too  much  of 
Esther,  but  I  was  careful  not  to  offend  her ;  and,  indeed,  I 
did  not  wish  myself  to  be  too  particular  about  the  girl.  I 
only  wanted  to  give  her  the  kind  of  work  which  would  keep 
her  out  of  the  way  of  gossiping  and  idle  talking  with  the  men 
about  the  farm.  Esther  was  much  given  to  chattering,  and, 
though  I  did  not  encourage  her,  she  told  me  of  her  own  accord 
some  things  which  I  certainly  was  much  interested  in  hear- 
mg. 

Her  mother  had  been  sent  for  to  work  at  Stonecliff,  the 
large  house  under  Compton  heath.  It  was  to  be  cleaned  and 
put  in  order  for  a  family  who  were  to  take  possession  almost 
immediately,  and  Esther  said  she  was  nearly  sure  that  it 
was  Mrs.  Temple  who  had  given  all  the  orders.  This  con- 
firmed Mr.  Hervey's  information,  and  settled  my  mind  as  to 
saying  anything  to  Miss  Milicent.  If  matters  had  gone  as 
far  as  that,  it  would  be  useless. 

The  news  was  confirmed  a  few  days  after ;  when,  as  I 
was  sitting  alone  by  myself,  at  work,  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
front  door  and  I  heard  some  one  say : 

"  Is  Ursula  Grant  at  home  ?  "  The  voice  took  me  quite  by 
surprise.  It  was  Mrs  Temple's.  I  thought  I  had  better  go 
out  to  her.  She  was  in  a  little  pony  chaise;  one  that  be- 
longed to  the  hotel,  and  Captain  Temple  was  with  her,  I 
asked  them  to  get  out  and  walk  in,  and  the  Captain  seemed 
willing,  but  Mrs.  Temple  declined.  They  must  return  at 
once,  she  said.  She  had  only  called  about  a  little  matter  of 
business  ;  perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  see  Mrs,  Grant, 
"  Mrs.  Grant  is  not  at  home.  Ma'am,"  I  replied ;  for  Leah 
had  gone  over  to  her  mother  at  Hatton. 
Vol.  I— 11 


242  URSULA. 

"  Well  then  !  perhaps  you  will  do  as  well,  if  you  will  ex- 
plain. My  dear,  the  pony  is  fidgety,  just  get  out  and  stand 
by  its  head."  And  Mr.  Temple,  being  always  obedient, 
alighted. 

A  cold  wind  was  blowing,  and  I  was  afraid  of  tooth-ache, 
and  put  my  apron  round  my  head,  but  Mrs.  Temple  did  not 
notice  it,  and  kept  me  standing  in  the  draught.  "  I  wanted 
to  inquire  about  having  butter  from  Sandcombe,"  she  said.  "  I 
shall  want  enough  for  rather  a  large  family  ;— Mr.  Temple,  and 
myself,  Mrs.  and  Miss  Weir,  and  our  servants,  besides 
friends; — we  are  to  be  at  Stonecliff."  She  looked  at  me  as 
though  I  had  been  an  utter  stranger,  who  had  never  heard  of 
her  before. 

I  did  not  appear  surprised,  or  even  interested,  but 
merely  said,  "  We  send  our  butter  to  Hove,  Ma'am,  gener- 
ally." 

"  I  suppose  you  do ;  but  of  course  you  would  be  willing 
to  accommodate  persons  in  the  neighbourhood.  We  find  it 
difficult  to  procure  good  butter,  and  I  am  particular  about  it." 

"  I  will  speak  to  Mrs.  Grant,"  was  my  reply. 

I  think  she  was  struck  by  the  tone,  for  she  added  more 
graciously,  "  Mrs.  Weir  would  have  a  claim  upon  you,  I  am 
sure." 

"  Certainly,  Ma'am,  my  brother  and  I — all  of  us  would  do 
anything  we  could  for  Mrs  Weir,"  I  answered.  "  But  the 
butter  can  always  be  bought  at  Hove." 

"  Yes,  perhaps  so  ;  but  I  should  prefer — you  have  a  girl 
here  who  comes  from  Compton  School,  she  might  bring  it 
over." 

She  was  bent  upon  saving  the  carriage,  I  saw  that  in  an 
instant. 

"  The  girl's  hours  would  scarcely  suit,  I  am  afraid, 
Ma'am,"  I  replied ;  "  and  the  butter  for  a  large  family  would 
be  a  load  for  her." 

"  Oh  !  a  strong  girl;  she  would  not  care,  and  she  must 
learn  to  make  herself  useful.  Mrs.  Kichardson  would  wish 
it.  She  is  one  of  the  Compton  girls,  I  know  there  can  be  no 
difficulty." 

"  I  could  promise  a  pound  occasionally,  for  Mrs.  Weir, 
Ma'am,"  I  said,  "  but  I  would   not  undertake  for  more. 


U  K  S  U  L  A  .  243 

The  butter  has  been  sent  to  Hove  now  for  a  good  many 
jears,  but  of  course  I  could  speak  about  it  to  Mrs.  Grant." 

"  I  shall  call  again,  and  speak  for  myself,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  am  not  accustomed  to  incivility.  My  dear,"  and  she 
touched  her  husband  with  the  driving-whip,  "  my  dear,  are 
you  ready  ?  We  must  call  again  another  day ;  or  perhaps, — 
tell  Mrs.  Grant  I  should  wish  to  see  her  if  she  should  be 
coming  over  to  Compton  in  the  course  of  the  next  week." 

I  curtsied,   and  Mrs.  Temple  drove  off. 

Was  it  not  irritating  ? — and  she  professing  herself  to  be 
so  wonderfully  good,  so  Christian-like.  It  would  have  made 
me  doubt  whether  anything  like  real  religion  and  humility 
were  to  be  found  in  the  world,  if  I  had  not  known  persons 
like  Mrs.  Weir,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richardson.  Curiously 
enough,  Mrs.  Temple  always  came  over  me  as  something 
new.  It  takes  a  long  time  to  make  one  believe  that  persons 
with  high  professions  can  really  be  self- deceivers,  and  when- 
ever I  was  away  from  Mrs.  Temple,  I  took  myself  to  task  for 
disliking  her  as  I  did,  and  suspected  it  might  be  my  own 
fault  that  we  were  not  friends.  "  Perhaps,"  I  sometimes 
said  to  myself,  "  if  I  was  more  in  earnest,  I  should  enter 
more  into  her  ways  of  going  on,  and  understand  them  bet- 
ter." But  it  was  no  use  to  scold  myself;  one  meeting  was 
enough  to  make  me  turn  from  her  as  much  as  ever. 

But  the  thing  which  worried  me  now  far  more  than  Mrs. 
Temple's  ungraciousness,  was  the  thought  that  Mrs.  Weir 
and  Miss  Milicent  were  so  entirely  under  her  influence,  and 
that  they  could  so  have  forgotten  their  old  kindliness  for 
me,  as  to  make  such  a  great  change  as  that  of  moving  from 
the  Heath  to  Stonecliff,  and  joining  housekeeping  with  Mrs. 
Temple,  without  troubling  themselves  to  let  me  know  that  it 
was  a  settled  plan.  I  dare  say  they  had  spoilt  me  in  a  meas- 
ure in  former  days,  and  made  me  too  much  their  friend  ;  but 
I  own  I  felt  as  though  I  had  been  dealt  unkindly  by,  and 
my  first  impulse  was  to  take  my  revenge  by  not  helping  them 
in  return.  Leah  was  little  likely  to  upset  the  arrangements 
of  her  dairy,  to  please  either  Mrs.  Weir  or  Mrs.  Temple,  and 
though  I  had  said  truly  that  the  butter  could  be  bought  at 
Hove,  I  had  a  strong  suspicion  that  it  was  nearly  always 
caught  up  at  once  by  old  customers.  But  I  was  in  a  better 
mind  than  that  beiore  Leah  came  home.      I  had  an  old 


244  URSULA. 

habit,  I  don't  remember  exactly  when  or  how  I  began  it,  of 
reading  the  Evening  Psalms  about  that  time  in  the  day,  and 
when  I  had  put  out  the  tea-things,  I  went  up  to  my  room 
and  took  out  my  prayer-book  as  usual,  and  somehow  or 
other  the  very  act  of  doing  it  made  me  feel  what  a  sinful 
temper  I  was  indulging.  There  was  a  hard  struggle  before 
I  could  overcome  it,  but  God  helped  me,  and  I  gained  the 
victory,  and  that  same  evening  I  tried,  though  unsuccessful- 
ly, to  persuade  Leah  to  alter  her  market  arrangements  to 
suit  them.  I  was  vexed  at  having  failed,  but  satisfied  at 
having  made  the  attempt,  and  never  suspected  that  any  fault 
could  be  laid  at  my  door. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

Christmas  came.  It  would  take  too  much  time  to  note 
all  that  happened  before,  though  there  was  a  good  deal  in 
different  ways,  both  at  home  and  abroad.  Jane  Shaw  was 
married  ;  that,  I  think,  was  the  greatest  event  of  all.  Of 
course  I  was  not  asked  to  the  wedding,  but  Jessie  Lee  was ; 
and  very  pretty  she  looked,  as  I  was  told,  and  very  much  no- 
tice she  had  in  consequence  from  Captain  Price's  gay  friends. 
Her  little  head  was  sadly  turned,  for  the  time,  by  the 
flattery  she  received.  She  came  over  to  us  once  or  twice 
dressed  so  handsomely,  that  I  really  felt  ashamed  for  her ; 
but  she  took  what  I  said  to  her  about  it  very  properly,  and 
if  she  did  not  alter  her  ways,  at  least  she  was  not  angry  with 
me  for  trying  to  induce  her  to  do  so.  She  was  a  great  deal 
at  Dene,  which  was  what  I  disliked  more  than  anything. 

Mrs.  Morris  and  Leah  quite  changed  their  tone  about 
her,  when  they  found  how  much  was  made  of  her  there. 
Instead  of  a  drudge,  they  seemed  resolved  to  turn  her  into  a 
young  lady  ;  and  to  own  the  truth,  she  played  the  part  bet- 
ter than  many  who  set  up  for  being  well  born  and  well  bred. 
What  kind  of  society  there  was  at  Dene  I  could  not  well 
understand.  No  one  whom  we  knew,  except  Jessie,  ever 
visited,  or  even  went  there,  unless  it  might  be  now  and  then 
on  business ;  but  rumours  reached  us  which  were  anything 


URSULA.  245 

but  satisfactory  to  me,  though  William  and  Leah  appeared 
to  think  little  enough  about  them. 

Leah  was  possessed  with  the  idea  that  I  was  jealous  of 
Jessie ;  and  so,  if  I  ever  made  a  remark  upon  anything  I 
had  heard,  or  repeated  any  of  the  stories  which  now  and 
then  came  to  my  ears,  I  was  only  half  believed.  Leah 
could  not  see  as  I  did,  that  the  very  fact  of  having  Jessie's 
name  mixed  up  with  people  like  Captain  and  Mrs.  Price, 
whom  every  one  was  talking  about,  was  to  her  disadvantage. 
I  relieved  myself,  when  I  was  very  much  worried  with  this 
sort  of  thing,  by  writing  it  all  out  to  Roger.  I  had  always 
been  accustomed  to  tell  him  every  trouble  as  it  arose ;  and  I 
had  no  doubt  of  his  taking  part  in  this,  for  he  never  failed  to 
mention  Jessie  in  his  letters,  and  to  beg  that  I  would  remem- 
ber him  to  her.  Poor  fellow  !  before  Christmas  came,  he 
was  beginning  to  be  very  homesick,  for  troubles  had  come 
upon  the  gentleman  he  was  with,  and  so  in  a  measure  upon 
him.  Yet  he  wrote  cheerfully,  and  seemed  quite  resolved  to 
be  brave  and  bear  the  hardships  well,  and  in  time  he  said 
there  was  no  doubt  that  things  would  be  brighter.  At  any 
rate,  he  might  work  independently  whenever  he  chose.  I 
tried  not  to  see  that  he  said  less  about  having  me  with  him. 
The  possible  idea  of  remaining  away  from  him  longer  than  a 
year  was  so  dreadful,  that  I  would  not  face  it.  I  bore  the 
worries  of  Sandcombe  well  enough  in  the  hope  of  a  speedy 
end,  but  I  did  not  know  what  I  should  do  if  there  was  any 
prospect  of  there  being  a  lasting  burden.  Taken  separately 
indeed  they  were  but  trifles,  but  put  together  they  were 
sometimes  very  heavy. 

Busy  times  were  the  pleasantest.  Leah  was  in  good  hu- 
mour whenever  she  was  roused  to  be  very  active ;  and  one  of 
the  most  peaceful  seasons  I  ever  remember  whilst  I  was  with 
her,  was  in  November,  when  the  whole  house  was  at  work 
for  two  days,  salting  meat  and  melting  lard.  It  was  all  to  be 
done  at  once,  so  there  was  no  leisure  for  grumbling  ;  and  as 
it  happened,  Esther  Smithson  made  herself  remarkably  use- 
ful, and  was  in  consequence  hired  for  extra  work  in  the  af- 
ternoon ;  and  Leah  even  said  to  me  that  she  thought  I  must 
have  taken  pains  with  her,  for  she  was  turning  out  a  very 
handy  girl.     This  pleased  me,  I  own,  for  certainly  1  did  take 


246  URSULA. 

a  good  deal  of  pains  with  Esther  in  one  -way  and  another ; 
and  though  she  had  some  faults  which  it  was  very  difficult  to 
overcome,  I  could  see  that  at  any  rate  she  had  not  gone  back 
since  she  worked  at  Sandcombe. 

My  time  and  thoughts  were  occupied  more  and  more 
every  day  with  Sandcombe,  and  I  dare  say  it  was  right  that 
it  should  have  been  so,  but  there  was  a  place  in  my  heart 
still,  which  was  filled  with  remembrances  of  Dene  and  care 
for  Mrs.  Weir.  How  soon  portions  of  one's  life  become  like 
a  dream  to  one  !  I  was  living  scarcely  more  than  a  mile 
and  a  half  from  Mrs.  Weir,  I  heard  her  name  constantly, 
there  were  opportunities  for  going  over  to  see  her  tolerably 
often,  yet  by  the  time  Christmas  arrived  I  felt  quite  removed 
from  her.  The  days  when  I  used  to  be  allowed  to  go  and 
sit  with  her,  and  read  to  her,  and  nurse  and  comfort,  and  be 
useful  to  her,  seemed  like  the  days  of  my  childhood,  calm 
and  bright,  happy  with  an  untold  happiness,  but  too  indis- 
tinct to  give  me  the  feeling  that  they  had  once  formed  part 
of  my  own  existence. 

Yet  nothing  had  occurred  outwardly  to  alter  Mrs.  Weir's 
kindly  feelings  towards  me,  and  I  could  not  with  truth  say 
that  they  were  altered ;  but  she  was  living  with  Mrs.  Temple 
at  StoneclifiF,  and  this  put  me  always  on  my  guard  when  I  was 
with  her,  lest  what  I  said  should  be  repeated,  and  then  taken 
up  and  turned  against  me.  I  was  not  so  open,  therefore,  as 
I  used  to  be,  and  no  doubt  Mrs.  Weir  found  it  more  difficult 
to  talk  to  me.  There  was  a  kind  of  floating  mist  between 
us,  and  though  I  loved  and  honoured  her  too  much  ever  really 
to  alter  in  my  feelings  towards  her,  yet  I  must  confess  it  now 
vexed  me  to  know  that  I  was  at  Mrs.  Temple's  mercy ;  and 
every  now  and  then  I  could  not  help  perceiving  symptoms  of 
distrust  which  went  to  my  heart. 

But  there  was  one  person  who,  I  must  say,  never  changed, 
nor  showed  the  slightest  symptom  of  change.  Miss  Milicent 
and  I  had  lived  together  rather  in  the  cat-and-dog  .style  at 
Dene ;  but  we  liked  each  other  at  heart,  and  now  that  we 
were  no  longer  in  danger  of  mutual  interference,  I  think  we 
began  to  see  more  clearly  our  respective  good  points. 

One  thing  I  certainly  did  wonder  at  very  much.  I  used 
to   imagine  Miss  Milicent  such  a  determined  person;  one 


URSULA.  247 

whom  it  was  impossible  to  lead,  who  would  go  her  own  way, 
and  that  often  a  very  strange  way.  But  I  begin  to  think 
that  people  who  are  self-willed  and  troublesome  in  temper, 
are  often  as  tired  of  their  own  humours  and  oddities  as  their 
friends  can  be ;  and  as  willing,  but  for  their  pride,  to  give 
way,  if  they  meet  with  a  will  stronger  than  their  own. 

The  day  before  Christmas-eve  I  was  asked  over  to  Long- 
side.  Mrs.  Kemp  wished  me  to  go  the  next  evening,  but 
there  were  reasons  against  it ;  one  which  concerned  only  my- 
self. I  wished  to  have  a  quiet  time  before  Christmas-day. 
Mr.  Richardson  had  lately  given  some  cautions  and  direc- 
tions about  preparing  for  Christmas,  which  I  was  desirous, 
if  possible,  to  attend  to,  for  I  was  beginning  to  be  more  care- 
ful not  to  neglect  advice  upon  these  points.  Being  so  much 
alone  tended  to  make  me  thoughtful.  I  always  made  a  point 
of  telling  Leah  what  I  meant  to  do  in  the  way  of  going  for  a 
walk,  or  drinking  tea  with  a  friend ;  it  was  due  to  her,  though 
she  had  no  absolute  control  over  me ;  but  it  was  a  sore  trial 
sometimes ;  she  had  such  a  provoking  way  of  suggesting  diffi- 
culties. I  often  felt,  when  I  had  gained  my  point,  as  though 
I  had  been  straggling  through  a  furze  bush,  and  was  pricked 
all  over. 

"  Going  to  Longside  !  "  she  exclaimed,  that  day  after 
dinner,  when  I  happened  to  mention  Mrs.  Kemp's  invita- 
tion. "  Why  !  you'll  be  frozen.  There  must  be  snow  be- 
fore long." 

"  Not  much  appearance  of  it  at  present,"  I  said ;  "  the 
sky  is  clear." 

"  And  you  can't  set  off  till  late,  for  I  have  kept  Esther 
here  to  help  this  afternoon." 

"  I  don't  quite  see  why  that  should  prevent  me,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"  Only  that  you  know  she  always  gets  into  a  scrape,  if 
you  are  not  by  to  look  after  her.  She  and  Martha  never  hit 
it  off  together." 

"  I  am  afraid  they  must  learn  to  do  so,"  I  said.  "  I  can 
scarcely  undertake  to  be  Esther's  guardian  all  day." 

"  Martha  trusted  her  to  wash  the  milk-buckets,  and  clean 
the  pans,  last  time  she  stayed,"  continued  Leah,  "  and  she 
did  it  disgracefully.  I  shall  be  obliged  to  see  to  it  myself 
next." 


248  URSULA. 

"  I  will  give  her  a  caution  if  you  think  it  necessary,"  I 
replied ;  "  but  perhaps  it  would  come  better  from  you, 
as  you  are  the  mistress.  I  did  not  know  though  that  it 
would  be  necessary  to  keep  her,  as  there  is  not  so  very  much 
to  do." 

"  Really,  Ursie,  you  are  enough  to  try  the  temper  of  a 
saint,"  exclaimed  Leah.  "  Not  much  to  do  !  with  all  the 
dairy-work  and  the  poultry,  and  tea,  and  supper,  and  the  day 
after  to-morrow  Christmas-day  !  " 

I  tried  not  to  smile,  as  I  answered,  "  I  did  not  think  of 
putting  you  to  inconvenience ;  my  work,  as  you  know,  does 
not  interfere  much  with  yours  in  the  afternoon." 

"  No,  indeed,  it  doesn't,"  exclaimed  Leah  ;  "  you  sit  in 
the  parlour  with  your  needle  till  you  have  not  the  least  idea 
of  what  is  going  on  in  the  house.  If  you  were  mistress,  as 
I  am,  you  would  soon  see  that  it  does  not  do  to  go  gadding 
about  the  country  whenever  the  fancy  seizes  one.  Esther  is 
not  to  be  trusted  with  the  dairy-work  at  all,"  she  added,  in 
an  under  tone. 

"  Well,  then  !  let  Martha  undertake  to  scour  the  pans," 
I  said,  "  and  Esther  can  do  something  else." 

"  Martha  has  her  hands  full,"  replied  Leah. 

"  If  you  like,"  I  said,  "  I  can  have  an  eye  to  the  milk- 
buckets  and  the  pans  before  I  go.  There  is  no  difficulty  in 
the  matter,  except  Esther's  carelessness." 

"  I  don't  know  what  difficulty  you  would  have  greater," 
observed  Leah  ;  "  and  it  is  nonsense  of  you,  Ursie,  to  talk  of 
waiting  to  look  after  her ;  why  you  wouldn't  be  off  before 
dark ;  and  how  are  you  to  come  back  again  ?  You  can't 
think  of  bringing  Farmer  Kemp  out  at  night  to  walk  such  a 
distance,  and  I  am  sure  you  ought  not  to  come  alone." 

"  Mary  said  her  father  would  not  at  all  mind  the  walk," 
I  replied  ;  "  and  if  it  should  be  a  bad  night  he  would  drive 
me  back." 

Leah  made  no  reply,  but  just  as  she  was  going  out  of  the 
room,  she  turned  round  and  said,  "  I  wish  you  just  to  re- 
member, Ursie,  that  if  there  are  complaints  about  the  milk 
and  butter,  it  won't  be  my  fault." 

I  could  have  found  it  in  my  heart  at  the  moment  to  give 
up  my  visit,  anything  seemed  better  than  to  have  to  bear 


URSULA.  249 

these  taunts,  but  I  knew  that  I  should  gain  nothing  by  yield- 
ing. Leah  would  only  have  called  me  perverse,  and  deter- 
mined to  make  myself  a  martyr.  I  resolved,  though,  that 
she  should  have  no  real  cause  for  complaint,  and  therefore  I 
went  to  Esther,  and  took  her  myself  into  the  dairy  to  show 
her  exactly  what  she  was  to  do,  telling  her  especially  that 
she  was  to  give  herself  plenty  of  time,  so  as  to  have  the  pans 
quite  ready  for  the  new  milk  when  it  should  be  brought  in. 
There  really  was  nothing  else  of  any  consequence  to  be 
attended  to,  for  as  to  the  preparations  for  Christmas-day,  I 
had  been  busy  with  them  all  the  morning,  and  William  was 
not  so  bountiful  to  his  people  as  to  require  much  to  be  done 
for  them. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

Leah  kept  out  of  my  way,  and  did  not  say  good-bye  to 
me.  I  went  off  with  a  mixed  feeling — a  light  heart  from  the 
prospect  of  my  holiday,  but  a  heavy  one  from  the  thought  of 
the  constant  fret  of  temper  which  I  was  to  beai- — no  one 
could  say  how  long.  The  light-heartedness,  however,  won 
the  day  by  the  time  I  had  reached  the  top  of  the  Down,  and 
could  look  over  the  sea,  with  the  white  waves  curling  and 
tossing  as  they  rushed  in  upon  the  shore.  I  stood  for  a  few 
moments  to  enjoy  the  sight,  and  then  finding  I  had  more 
time  than  I  expected,  I  took  it  into  my  head  to  go  to  the 
summit  of  St.  Anne's  Hill  and  stand  by  the  ruined  oratory, 
as  I  had  done  on  that  evening  when  Roger  first  told  me  that 
we  might  be  parted.  I  went  up  so  quickly  that  I  was  quite 
out  of  breath,  and  when  I  reached  the  tower,  I  rested  against 
the  wall  to  recover  myself.  I  did  not  know  that  any  one 
was  near  till  I  heard  a  little  cough,  and  when  I  looked  round 
the  corner  I  saw  Jessie  Lee. 

Like  myself,  she  was  leaning  against  the  tower  with  an 
open  letter  in  her  hand,  which  she  was  trying  to  read ;  but 
the  wind  caught  it  every  instant,  so  that  she  could  scarcely 
manage  it.  "  You  had  better  come  round  this  side,  and  not 
face  the  wind  in  that  way,  Jessie,"  I  said  gently,  not  wishing 
to  startle  her. 

Vol.  L— 11* 


250  URSULA. 

But  she  did  start,  and  stand  up,  and  the  colour  came  to 
her  cheeks,  and  mounted  up  to  her  forehead,  while  she 
crumpled  up  the  letter  in  her  hand,  and  tried  to  hide  it. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  frighten  you,"  I  said ;  "  but  I  was 
going  to  Longside,  when  the  fancy  took  me  to  run  up  here 
for  a  few  minutes  and  look  round.  The  air  on  St.  Anne's 
always  does  one  good." 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  fresh.  I  didn't  know  you  were  going  to 
Longside.  I  think  I  must  say  good-bye  ;  "  and  Jessie  moved 
away. 

But  I  called  after  her.  "  Don't  run  off  in  such  a  hurry," 
I  said  as  she  came  back ;  "  it  is  not  often  that  we  meet  now, 
Jessie ;  you  are  always  gay  or  busy." 

"  Sometimes ;  I  am  not  busy  now,"  she  answered,  stop- 
ping unwillingly. 

"  Only  gay?"  I  said. 

The  words  seemed  to  strike  her  like  a  mockery;  she 
turned  round  upon  me  quite  sharply.  "  You  didn't  use  to  be 
fond  of  sneering,  Ursie." 

"  I  never  meant  to  sneer,  Jessie,"  I  replied ;  "  I  only 
repeat  what  others  say." 

"  And  I  thought  you  knew  better  than  to  believe  the 
world's  talk,"  she  answered.  "  No  one  can  call  Hatton  a  gay 
place." 

"  Not  Hatton,  but  Dene,"  I  said.  "  You  must  own, 
Jessie,  that  Captain  and  Mrs.  Price  keep  open  house." 

"  It  is  their  concern,  not  mine,"  she  answered ;  "  why 
should  people  talk  about  me  ?  " 

She  spoke  hastily;  but  I  suspect  she  was  not  entirely 
vexed  that  people  should  talk  of  her,  in  whatever  way  it 
might  be. 

"  We  must  live  in  the  desert,  if  we  mean  not  to  be  talked 
about  in  this  world,"  I  said ;  "  and  even  then  I  suppose 
people  would  be  troubling  themselves  to  guess  why  we  went 
there." 

"  And  that  is  why  I  wonder  you  take  any  heed  to  what 
you  hear  about  me,  Ursie,"  continued  Jessie  ;  "  you  know  so 
well  how  foolish  it  all  is." 

"  I  am  not  quite  so  sure  of  that,"  I  said  gravely.  "  I 
don't  think,  Jessie,  that  any  girl's  name  is  ever  mentioned 


URSULA.  251 

lightly,  unless  she  herself  has  given  cause  for  it ;  at  least, 
that  is  what  Mrs.  Kemp  has  often  said  to  me,  and  Roger 
used  to  tell  me  the  same." 

Jessie  stood  with  one  foot  forward,  wishing,  I  could  see, 
to  run  away  from  me,  but  at  the  mention  of  Roger's  name  she 
drew  it  back,  and  her  fingers  seemed  to  grasp  more  firmly 
the  letter  which  she  held. 

"  Roger  wasn't  well  when  you  last  heard  from  him,  was 
he  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  careless  tone. 

"  Not  very ;  the  cold  tries  him.  I  must  go  out  to  him  as 
soon  as  I  can,  to  take  care  of  him." 

"  He  will  want  that,"  she  said. 

"  Yes;  he  takes  very  little  thought  for  himself." 

"  But  he  likes  Canada  ?  "  continued  Jessie. 

"  Yes,  in  a  way ;  it  will  never  be  like  England  to  him ; 
he  cares  so  much  for  his  old  friends." 

Jessie  looked  up  thoughtfully.  "  You  tell  him  all  the 
gossip  about  them,  I  suppose,  Ursie." 

"  I  tell  him  what  I  hear ;  sometimes  truth,  sometimes 
gossip,  just  as  it  may  happen." 

"  And  he  believes  it,  of  course  ? '' 

"  He  believes  what  I  tell  him  is  true." 

"  And  if  people  say  ill-natured  things  about  me,  he  takes 
them  for  fact  then,"  said  Jessie. 

"  He  takes  for  fact  what  I  say  is  fact,"  I  replied;  "  that 
Jessie  Lee  is  too  much  at  Dene  for  her  happiness  or  for  her 
good  name." 

"  My  good  name  !  "  she  exclaimed ;  and  her  eyes,  usually 
so  sweet  and  soft  in  their  expression,  flashed  like  lightning. 
"  I  tell  you  what  you  may  say  to  him,  which  will  put  a  stop 
to  any  remarks  upon  my  good  name  or  my  bad." 

She  waited  a  moment, — began  to  speak,  stopped,  and  at 
length  exclaimed,  "  Jessie  Lee  is  going  to  be  married  ;  "  and, 
seeing,  I  suppose,  that  I  looked  rather  incredulous,  she 
thrust  her  letter  into  my  hand,  saying,  impatiently,  "  Read 
it ;  read  it." 

I  turned  away  from  the  wind  and  opened  the  letter ; 
Jessie  watched  me  intently. 

The  handwriting  was  difficult  to  decipher ;  she  thought 
I  had  reached  the  conclusion  before  I  had  made  out  the 
meaning  of  the  first  four  lines. 


252  URSULA. 

"  Well !  "  she  said,  "  it's  all  true, — plain  ;  no  mistake, 
Ursie."  Still  I  read  on;  when  at  length  I  came  to  the  con- 
cluding words,  I  folded  up  the  paper  again,  and  gave  it  to 
Jessie  without  speaking. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  "  it  is  an  offer." 

"  Yes  !  an  offer." 

"  And  a  very  proper  one.  I  shall  be  the  wife  of  Lieuten- 
ant Macdonald,  of  the  Marines.  Roger  will  have  nothing 
to  say  against  that." 

The  tone  of  her  voice  was  strange ;  there  was  more  pique 
than  pleasure  in  it.  I  thought  I  would  try  an  experiment 
with  her. 

"  No,  Jessie,"  I  said,  "  you  will  not  be  Mrs.  Macdonald." 

"  Why  not  ?     Who  is  to  hinder  me  ?  " 

"  Yourself.  You  don't  know  anything  about  Lieutenant 
Macdonald  that  is  good,  and  what  is  more,  you  don't  care 
for  him." 

"  As  for  caring,  he  is  very  polite ;  you  can't  find  fault 
with  his  letter." 

"  Yes  I  can,"  I  said.  "  It  is  the  letter  of  a  man  who  has 
not  a  particle  of  respect  for  you,  and  thinks  he  has  nothing 
to  do  but  to  flatter  you ;  and,  Jessie,  you  know  as  well  as  I 
do,  that  Lieutenant  Macdonald's  habits  would  make  any 
woman  miserable.     Who  would  marry  a  drunkard  ?  " 

"  You  may  just  tell  Roger  that  it  is  going  to  be,"  she 
said,  laughing.  "  It  will  be  a  fine  subject  for  your  next 
letter." 

I  was  provoked  more  than  frightened.  With  all  her 
folly,  I  believed  that  Jessie  had  too  much  real  respect  for 
goodness,  thus  deliberately  to  throw  herself  away  ;  but  then ; 
her  vanity, — it  was  such  a  fearful  stumbling-block.  I  could 
not  let  her  leave  me  in  this  wild  mood. 

"  Jessie,"  I  said,  and  I  caught  hold  of  her  dress,  and 
made  her  listen  to  me.  "  You  were  always  fond  of  teasing, 
but  this  goes  rather  beyond  what  one  can  bear.  You  can't 
mean  really  to  say  '  Yes  '  to  this  man ;  but  you  will  do  a  very 
wrong  thing  if  you  don't  at  once  say,  '  No.'  " 

"  1  don't  know  why  I  should,"  she  replied.  ''  You  see, 
he  says  that  if  I  cannot  at  once  like  him,  he  will  be  content 
to  wait  for  what  time  may  do." 


URSULA.  253 

"  And  for  what  purpose  ?  "  I  inquired.  "  Do  you  think 
he  is  going  to  reform  for  the  love  of  you  ?  " 

"  He  may,"  said  Jessie.     "  Men  do  reform  sometimes." 

"  But  women  are  worse  than  mad  who  marry  upon  the 
chance  of  reformation,"  I  said.  "  Jessie,  even  if  you  cared 
for  him,  there  is  not  one  of  your  friends  who  would  consent 
to  the  marriage." 

"  I  don't  want  consent,"  she  replied,  "  at  least,  not  yet ; 
there  is  no  hurry." 

"  Indeed,  Jessie,"  I  exclaimed,  you  are  mistaken.  There 
is  no  halting  between  yes  and  no  in  a  case  like  this.  If  you 
don't  mean  to  marry  him,  you  have  no  business  to  keep  him 
hanging  on." 

"  I  don't  say  that  I  shall  not  marry  him,"  she  replied. 

"Well,  then,  you  will  talk  to  Mrs.  Morris,  and  Leah, 
and  your  friends,  and  then,  if  they  approve,  you  will  say 
'  Yes.' " 

"  Perhaps  '  Yes,'  perhaps  '  No.'  I  can't  answer  for  what 
I  may  do." 

She  provoked  me  so  that  I  jumped  up,  and  spoke,  I  am 
afraid,  hastily  :  "  Jessie,"  I  said,  "  this  is  wicked  trifling. 
People  talk  lightly  of  love  and  marriage,  but  they  are  very 
serious  matters,  and  we  shall  have  to  answer  before  God  for 
the  way  in  which  we  manage  them.  If  Lieutenant  Mac- 
donald  was  a  man  whom  you  could  respect,  I  could  under- 
stand your  hesitation.  But  he  is  a  drunkard  ;  his  character 
is  notorious.  You  know  you  have  told  me  about  him  many 
times." 

"  He  says  he  is  very  fond  of  me,"  said  Jessie  ;  and  there 
was  more  real  feeling  in  her  tone  than  I  could  have  imagined 
possible  in  connection  with  such  a  man. 

I  saw  at  once  what  was  working  in  her  mind.  "  Jessie," 
I  said,  gravely,  "  what  is  the  love  of  a  bad  man  worth  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing ;  only,  Ursie,  it  is  very  pleasant  to  be 
loved." 

All  the  flippancy  and  perverseness  of  her  manner  had 
vanished,  and  she  leaned  her  head  upon  my  shoulder  and  cried 
bitterly.  I  thought  of  Longsidc,  and  felt  I  should  be  late,  but 
what  could  I  do.  "  Dear  Jessie,"  I  said,  "  it  is  very  pleasant 
to  be  loved,  there  is  no  doubt  of  that,  it  is  what  we  all  long 


254  URSULA. 

for.  But  lovo  alone  won't  make  you  happy,  and,  what  is 
more,  such  love  as  this  won't  last.  Lieutenant  Macdonald 
may  possibly  think  he  cares  for  you  much,  but  I  am  quite 
sure  that  he  cares  for  himself  more.  He  won't  give  up  his 
wine  and  his  bad  companions  to  please  you." 

"  Perhaps  he  will,  if  I  ask  him,"  persisted  Jessie. 

"  But  you  have  no  right  to  ask  him,  unless  you  mean  to 
do  something  for  him  in  return ;  unless  you  have  made  up 
your  mind  to  marry  him,  and  that,  you  know,  you  have  not. 
And,  at  all  events,  one  thing  is  clear ;  you  are  bound  to  be 
open  with  Mrs.  Morris  in  the  matter,  and  to  do  nothing  with- 
out consulting  her." 

Jessie  stood  twisting  her  letter  into  various  shapes. 
Presently  she  said,  rather  bitterly,  "  You  are  not  lonely  as  I 
am,  Ursie." 

"  Not  quite,  I  have  Koger;  but  he  is  away." 

"That  is  nothing;  he  thinks  of  you  more  than  of  any 
one  else  ;  he  loves  you  best." 

Why  was  it  that  a  creeping  misgiving  seemed  to  glide 
through  my  veins,  and  chill  my  answer  ?  I  merely  said, 
"  Yes,  I  suppose  he  does." 

"  Suppose  !  you  know  it,  you  are  sure  of  it,"  exclaimed 
Jessie,  eagerly,  "  If  I  had  a  love  like  Roger's,  tlrsie,  I  could 
go  through  the  world  without  a  wish.  I  would  work,  slave, 
bear  torture,  anything  to  be  loved  first — best." 

"  But  not  by  Lieutenant  Macdonald,"  I  said.  "  A 
drunkard  !  Oh,  Jessie,  think  !  "  and  I  myself  shuddered  un- 
consciously at  the  idea. 

She  put  her  arm  within  mine  without  saying  another 
word,  and  we  moved  away  from  the  tower.  Then  she  stopped, 
and  said,  "  Which  way  are  you  going,  Ursie  ?  " 

"  Over  the  hill,  to  Longside.  I  ought  to  have  been  there 
half  an  hour  ago." 

"  We  can  walk  together,  then,  and  you  can  go  through 
Dene  ;  no  one  will  notice." 

"  Not  together,"  I  replied,  "  if  you  are  bound  for  Hatton." 

"  I  must  go  to  Dene  first,"  she  answered  with  some  hesi- 
tation; "  I  promised  Mrs.  Price  to  see  her  to-day." 

"  It  would  be  better  to  write  to  Mr.  Macdonald  first,"  I 
said.  "  If  he  is  at  Dene,  as  I  suppose,  it  will  be  awkward 
meeting  him  before  you  have  written." 


URSULA.  255 

"  He  is  not  likely  to  be  there.  The  gentlemen  were  all 
to  be  out  shooting.  That  is  why  I  promised  to  go.  I  must 
keep  my  word.  Now,  give  me  your  hand  and  we'll  run  ;  " 
and  she  drew  me  witib  her  to  the  brow  of  the  hill. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

I  WOULD  not  run  down  St.  Anne's  Hill,  for  it  was  a 
great  deal  too  steep  to  be  safe,  and  Jessie  knew  better  than 
to  attempt  it ;  but  she  was  in  such  a  state  of  excitement,  that 
really  she  scarcely  knew  what  she  said.  When  we  reached 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  I  again  urged  her  returning  to  Hatton. 
As  to  going  through  Dene  myself,  I  did  not  like  the  idea,  for 
my  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Price  had  dropped  since  her  mar- 
riage, and  I  did  not  desire  to  renew  it,  neither  did  I  know  how 
she  was  likely  to  look  upon  such  an  intrusion.  Jessie  could 
not  understand  my  scruples.  She  was  so  at  home  at  Dene 
herself,  that  she  fancied  every  one  else  must  be  the  same. 

We  went  on  in  the  direction  of  Dene,  neither  of  us  hav- 
ing quite  made  up  our  minds  what  to  do,  and  I  trying  to 
persuade  Jessie  that  it  was  more  fitting  for  her  at  once  to  go 
back  to  Hatton,  and  put  the  case  before  Mrs.  Morris,  when, 
as  we  reached  the  little  sheep-path  leading  off  the  down  to 
Compton,  who  should  we  see  coming  up  but  Miss  Milicent, 
dressed  in  a  kind  of  loose  great-coat  and  a  close  beaver  bon- 
net, and  helping  herself  to  mount  the  hill  by  the  aid  of  a 
heavy  stick. 

"  Ursie  Grant,  is  that  you  ?  "  she  called  out.  "  Stop,  will 
you?     I  want  you." 

She  came  up  looking  flushed  and  excited,  but  somewhat 
cautious,  as  she  saw  Jessie. 

"  I  thought  you  were  alone,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  which 
Jessie  could  scarcely  help  hearing,  and  which  made  her  stand 
aside  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then,  to  my  great  annoyance, 
walk  on  slowly  by  herself  towards  Dene.  I  called  out  after 
her,  "  Just  wait,  Jessie;  I  shall  not  be  a  minute." 

"  Yes,  you  will  be,  I  have  a  good  many  things  to  say  to 
you,"  said  Miss  Milicent.    "  Who  is  that  girl  ?  " 


256  URSULA. 

"  A  kind  of  cousin  of  my  sister-in-law,  Miss  Milicent," 
I  replied.  "  If  you  will  excuse  me,  I  must  not  let  her  walk 
alone." 

"  Why  not  ?  She  is  no  baby.     Where  is  she  going  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure ;  perhaps  to  Dene. " 

"  To  Dene !  That  is  just  where  I  am  going,  and  you  are 
going  with  me." 

"  Indeed,  Miss  Milicent,  I  don't  know,"  I  said,  taken 
quite  by  surprise.  "  I  will  walk  with  you  to  the  gate  ;  but 
I  can't  say  about  going  in." 

"  It  is  going  in  that  I  am  bent  upon.  I  have  a  great  deal 
to  say  to  you,  Ursie  Grant.  Can't  that  girl  walk  on  instead 
of  waiting  ?     She  is  a  very  pretty  girl.     I  like  her  face." 

It  was  a  face  to  like,  especially  at  that  moment.  There 
was  so  much  thoughtfulness  in  it.  I  could  see  that  Jessie 
was  having  a  struggle  with  herself.  She  was  almost  deter- 
mined to  go  back  to  Hatton.  If  we  had  but  been  alone  I 
should  have  persuaded  her. 

"  That  is  your  way,"  I  said  to  her,  laughingly,  yet  in  a 
tone  I  knew  she  must  understand,  and  I  pointed  to  Hatton. 

"  And  this  is  our  way  to  Dene,"  said  Miss  Milicent,  lead- 
ing me  to  the  beginning  of  the  sloping  green  pathway  on  the 
side  of  the  down.  "  I  am  not  going  there  to  pay  a  visit — 
only  on  business,  and  you  can  let  Mrs.  Price  understand 
this." 

Jessie  caught  the  word  Dene.  "  Then  you  are  going  to 
Dene,  Ursie,"  she  said. 

"  Ursie  Grant  and  I  are  both  going  there,"  said  Miss 
Milicent.  "  She  knows  Mrs.  Price,  and  I  don't ;  though  I 
have  had  dealings  enough  with  her  of  one  kind  and  another." 

"  I  knew  Jane  Shaw ;  I  don't  know  Mrs.  Price,"  I  re- 
plied. "  She  is  too  fine  a  lady  for  me.  Miss  Milicent ;  and,  in- 
deed, she  will  be  likely  to  receive  you  much  better  without  me." 

"  I  know  Mrs.  Price  very  well,"  said  Jessie,  with  scarcely 
concealed  satisfaction  at  having  what  she  considered  a  grand 
friend. 

"  Do  you  ?  Then  you  will  be  just  the  person  to  say  what 
I  want,"  said  Miss  Milicent ;  "  only  you  will  just  let  Ursie 
Grant  and  me  walk  aside  and  have  a  little  talk  together." 

It  was  most  unfortunate.      My  first  impulse  was  to  leave 


URSULA.  257 

Jessie  and  Miss  Milicent  to  manage  their  visit  as  they  could, 
and  make  my  way  at  once  to  Longside  ;  but  then  I  was  so 
afraid  to  trust  Jessie  alone,  knowing  how  easily  she  might  be 
persuaded  to  stay  and  see  Mr.  Macdonald  again ;  and  even 
if  her  present  intentions  were  good,  which  I  was  not  sure  of, 
I  could  not  for  a  moment  have  depended  upon  them,  if  she 
were  placed  in  the  way  of  temptation.  Care  for  him  she  did 
not,  but  she  might  be  flattered  by  his  admiration,  and  touched 
by  his  expressions  of  affection ;  and  how  many  women  marry, 
and  make  themselves  miserable  for  life,  under  no  greater  in- 
ducement ! 

Miss  Milicent  took  no  notice  of  my  hesitation,  but  telling 
Jessie  to  go  on  to  the  white  gate,  and  wait  for  us,  she  planted 
herself  deliberately  in  my  way,  and  said,  in  an  under  tone, 
"  We  have  had  news  of  my  father,  Ursie." 

"  Indeed  !  "  I  exclaimed.  I  must  have  changed  colour 
from  surprise,  for  Miss  Milicent  added  directly,  "  You  look  as 
white  as  my  mother  did.  She  shook  like  an  aspen  leaf,  and 
went  into  a  fit.  She  would  have  gone  quite,  if  Matilda 
Temple  had  not  scolded  her." 

"  Oh  !  Miss  Milicent,  scolded  her !  "  I  exclaimed ;  "  who 
could  do  that  ?    Poor  lady  !  no  wonder  she  was  upset." 

"  No  wonder,  indeed.  If  you  had  been  there  to  see  it ! 
We  had  such  a  scene !  But  Matilda  Temple  didn't  carry 
the  day,  though  she  tried  hard  for  it.  She  would  have  kept 
the  letter  from  my  mother  if  she  could." 

"  And  you  heard  from  Mr.  Weir  himself?"  I  said. 

"  No,  only  from  a  gentleman  abroad  who  has  seen  him, 
and  knows  where  he  is,  and  tells  us  that  if  we  want  to  hear 
more  of  him  we  must  find  out  a  Lieutenant  Macdonald.  He 
is  at  Dene,  Ursie,  and  that  is  why  I  am  going  there." 

It  was  a  most  incoherent  story.  I  could  make  nothing  of  it, 
and  I  had  to  ask  many  questions  before  I  found  out  the  whole. 
John  Hervey,  it  seems,  had  been  doing  for  Mrs.  Weir  what 
he  wished  me  to  do ;  he  had  been  keeping  his  eyes  and  ears 
open  for  any  thing  which  might  interest  or  be  of  use  to  her. 
It  was  through  some  acquaintance  of  his  that  a  rumour  came 
of  Mr.  Weir  having  been  seen  somewhere  in  France — in  Paris 
I  think  it  was.  John  said  nothing,  but  he  made  inquiries,  and 
at  length  he  found  out  an  English  gentleman  who  had  lately 


258  U  B  SU  L  A  . 

been  in  company  with  Mr.  Weir,  but  knew  nothing  of  his 
history,  or  how  he  was  living,  or  what  he  meant  to  do — only  that 
he  had  with  him  a  Lieutenant  Macdonald,  who  at  that  time 
was  upon  the  point  of  starting  for  England.  "  Mr.  Hervey 
is  clever  enough,"  continued  Miss  Milicent,  when  she  had 
reached  thus  far ;  "  and  he  put  two  and  two  together,  and 
made  out  at  last  that  the  Lieutenant  Macdonald  mentioned 
in  the  letter  was  the  same  who  is  now  at  Dene ;  whereupon 
he  wrote  to  me  to  tell  me, — a  very  civil  letter  it  was ;  not 
at  all  putting  himself  forward  ;  he  is  a  young  man  who  knows 
his  place,  and  does  not  interfere.  But  when  I  had  read  it,  I 
made  up  my  mind  I  would  just  go  over  to  Dene  myself,  and 
see  Lieutenant  Macdonald,  and  hear  all  he  has  to  say.  I 
may  as  well  take  in  some  fresh  air  for  strength  before,"  she 
added,  as  she  turned  round  to  the  wind,  thrust  her  hands  into 
her  coat-pockets,  and  opening  her  mouth,  drew  a  long  breath, 
as  much  I  am  sure  to  help  her  mind  as  her  body, 

I  did  not  dare  say  I  felt  for  her.  She  never  would  have 
borne  that,  so  I  remarked  quite  coldly,  "  It  would  be  more 
proper  for  Lieutenant  Macdonald  to  call  upon  you.  Miss 
Milicent.  No  doubt  he  would  be  quite  willing  to  give  him- 
self the  trouble." 

"  I  don't  know  what  is  proper  or  what  is  not,  Ursie 
Grant.  I  have  lived  long  enough,  and  seen  folly  enough,  to 
put  propriety  out  of  the  question." 

"  But  it  would  have  been  easier  for  you  to  have  seen  him 
at  Stonecliff,"  I  observed.  "  There  are  such  odd  people  some- 
times at  Dene." 

"  If  they  are  odd  they  are  more  like  myself,"  she  replied ; 
''  and  I'll  tell  you  what,  Ursie,  you  don't  know  anything 
about  it.  There  is  Matilda  Temple,  at  Stonecliff,  with  eyes 
and  ears  in  every  corner  of  the  house  ;  and  my  mother's  door 
locked  against  me  and  open  only  to  her.  No !  whatever  I 
learn  shall  be  by  myself,  without  her  interference." 

"  Of  course  you  know  best,  Miss  Milicent,"  I  replied, 
"  but  it  would  not  seem  to  me  that  Mrs.  Temple  was  likely 
to  interfere  in  anything  which  concerned  Mrs.  Weir;  she 
could  have  no  object  in  it." 

"  Then  you  don't  know  her,  Ursie,  and  you  are  an  inno- 
cent baby,  which  I  never  thought  you  before,  for  you  never 


URSULA.  259 

gave  a  truer  warning  than  when  you  said  we  had  better  not 
make  one  with  Matilda  Temple." 

"  It  was  you  who  thought  so  first,  Miss  Milicent,"  I  said. 
"  You  always  told  me  you  distrusted  her." 

"  And  so  I  did,  and  so  I  do.  How  I  ever  came  to  give 
way  to  her  I  can't  think.  I  do  believe,  Ursie,  we  don't  any 
of  us  know  in  the  least  what  we  are  like." 

There  was  more  thought  in  the  remark  than  I  quite  saw 
then.  I  answered,  indifferently,  "  I  suppose  we  can't  know 
till  we  are  tried.  But  things  won't  last  long  as  they  are. 
Miss  Milicent.  I  think  you  told  me  one  day,  that  Stone- 
cliff  was  only  taken  for  a  year." 

"  And  what  is  to  happen  to  us  before  the  year  is  over  ?  It 
is  only  just  begun,  and  if  we  go  on  at  the  rate  we  are  going 
now,  we  maybe  without  a  penny  before  it  is  ended." 

I  felt  uncomfortable  when  Miss  Milicent  said  this.  I  did 
not  think  I  was  the  person  to  hear  about  the  money  affairs  of 
the  family,  but  Miss  Milicent  was  so  strange ;  she  could  be 
as  close  as  possible  at  times,  but  if  the  impulse  once  seized 
her,  and  she  felt  confidence  in  the  person  to  whom  she  was 
talking,  everything  came  out  at  a  rush.  I  looked  towards  the 
white  gate  to  give  her  a  hint  that  we  must  hasten  on,  but 
she  never  took  hints. 

"  We  were  to  share  housekeeping,"  she  continued,  "  but 
— I  don't  know  how  it  is,  I  am  sure — I  have  no  means  of 
ordering  matters,  and  there  are  so  many  little  things  put 
down  to  my  mother.  I  don't  believe  she  wants  them,  but 
Matilda  says  she  does.  Matilda  boasts  she  keeps  within  her 
own  income  ;  if  she  does  it  must  be  by  eking  it  out  with  ours." 

"  Perhaps,"  I  ventured  to  say,  "  if  there  is  news  of  Mr. 
Weir,  it  might  be  the  occasion  of  making  a  change." 

"  I  don't  say,  perhaps,"  she  replied.  "  I  say  it  must  be ; 
only  Matilda  Temple  will  work,  and  work,  at  my  mother  to 
prevent  it.  Now  she  has  her  in  her  hands  she  won't  let  her 
go  easily,  you  may  depend  upon  that.  That  was  why  she 
wanted  me  not  to  show  Mr.  Hervey's  letter.  It  was  all  pre- 
tence saying  it  would  upset  my  mother.  We  had  a  regular 
battle  about  it,  and  I  told  her  a  bit  of  my  mind.  We  are 
not  the  better  friends  for  that.  Depend  upon  it,  Ursie,  it  is 
a  trying  life  we  have  of  it ;  "  and,  for  almost  the  first  time 
since  I  had  known  her,  I  heard  Miss  Milicent  sigh. 


260  URSULA. 

It  was  her  own  doing,  all  to  be  attributed  to  her  neglect 
of  her  mother,  which  had  paved  the  way  for  Mrs.  Temple's 
influence,  but  it  was  not  my  place  to  reproach  her  with  it ; 
and,  I  fancied  she  was  beginning  to  feel  it. 

"  Mr.  Richardson  talks  to  me  about  looking  after  my 
mother,"  she  continued ;  "  he  is  always  throwing  me  back 
when  I  want  him  to  give  me  more  parish  work.  I  don't  see 
what  business  he  has  to  interfere.  As  I  tell  him,  he  can't 
know  the  ins  and  outs  of  a  family.  My  mother  wouldn't 
have  me  with  her  if  I  wished  it." 

"  I  am  sure  Mr.  Richardson  means  kindly,"  I  remarked, 
"  whatever  he  may  say.  He  has  been  a  good  friend  to  Roger 
and  me,  at  least." 

"  Well,  of  course,  yes  !  and  I  dare  say  I  may  be  wrong, 
but  that  won't  mend  matters  now ;  and,  Ursie,  I  don't  like 
your  always  taking  side  against  me." 

I  only  laughed  a  little  ;  there  was  no  good  in  arguing  with 
her  or  contradicting  her.  Besides,  time  was  getting  on. 
The  sun  was  sinking  low,  and  already  there  was  a  yellow 
gleam  over  the  bay,  and  a  mist  gathering  behind  the  white 
cliffs. 

"  If  you  please.  Miss  Milicent,"  I  said,  we  really  must  be 
going  on.  Jessie  has  to  return  to  Hatton,  and  you  will  find 
it  lonely  walking  back  to  the  Heath.  Are  you  quite  sure  you 
had  not  better  wait,  and  call  at  Dene  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I  am  quite  sure  that,  if  it  must  be  night  before  I  am 
back,  I  will  see  that  Mr.  Macdonald  to-day,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Since  you  are  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  Ursie,  you  can  go 
your  own  way.  That  young  girl  and  I  can  manage  without 
you." 

She  strode  on  for  some  distance,  and  had  nearly  reached 
the  white  gate,  when  she  stopped,  turned  round  to  me  as  I 
was  following  her,  caught  hold  of  my  hand,  and  grasped  it 
with  the  firm  clutch,  I  can  call  it  nothing  else,  which  was 
peculiar  to  her,  and  said,  "  I  am  like  a  hack-horse  tired, 
Ursie.  Every  one  is  setting  at  me  to  go  their  way,  but  you 
will  forgive." 

She  would  not  wait  to  hear  what  I  had  to  say  in  answer, 
but,  pushing  open  the  gate  before  Jessie  could  do  it  for  her, 
she  entered  the  grounds  of  Dene. 


URSULA.  261 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

Dene  was  very  little  altered.  I  could  not  tell  whether 
I  was  more  glad  or  sorry  for  that.  It  would  have  been  a 
great  pain  to  see  the  old  familiar  walks  destroyed ;  but  then, 
to  look  upon  them  with  such  changed  associations  !  I  won- 
dered how  Miss  Milicent  could  bear  it.  She  went  on 
bravely,  and,  as  it  seemed,  carelessly,  only  I  don't  think  she 
allowed  herself  to  look  about  much ;  and  she  did  not  speak  a 
word,  but  walked  before  us  by  herself. 

Jessie,  pleased  to  show  her  intimacy,  said  she  should  run 
round  by  the  verandah,  and  tell  Mrs.  Price  we  were  coming. 
Miss  Milicent  and  I  went  to  the  carriage  entrance. 

A  footman,  in  very  gay  orange-coloured  livery,  opened 
the  door,  but  he  was  almost  immediately  followed  by  Jessie. 
I  thought  she  was  going  to  put  herself  forward  to  welcome 
us,  but  she  had  better  tact  than  people  would  have  given  her 
credit  for,  knowing  her  thoughtless  ways.  She  came  up  to 
Miss  Milicent,  and  said,  "  I  thought,  Ma'am,  perhaps  you 
would  like  to  know  that  Mrs.  Price  has  a  visitor  with  her." 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  shall  not  keep  Mrs.  Price  more  than  a 
minute.  Ursie,  where  are  you  going  ?  "  and  Miss  Milicent 
looked  back  after  me. 

"  If  you  have  private  business  with  Mrs.  Price,  Miss 
Milicent,  I  could  wait  here  very  well,"  I  said,  in  an  under 
tone. 

"  Private,  with  her  !  "  was  the  answer,  in  a  loud  whisper. 
"  You  know  I  am  not  come  to  see  her." 

"  You  had  better  let  your  mistress  know  that  Miss  Weir 
would  be  glad  to  speak  to  her,"  I  said  aloud  to  the  servant, 
for  I  was  resolved  that  Mrs.  Price  should  not  think  I  had 
called  upon  her  for  my  own  pleasure. 

"  The  dining-room  is  empty,  I  am  sure,"  said  Jessie  to 
me  ;  and  the  man  took  the  hint,  and  ushered  us  in.  I  can't 
say  how  Uncomfortable  I  felt ;  it  was  so  very  awkward  to  be 
there,  and  I  could  not  see  why  Miss  Milicent  had  insisted 
upon  it ;  only,  I  suppose,  she  disliked  the  visit,  and  thought 
that  I  should  help  to  make  it  go  oflf  well. 


262  U  K  S  U  L  A  . 

Jessie  was  very  nervous  and  excited.  She  went  out 
into  the  passage  to  see  if  the  visitor  was  going, — then  came 
back  and  stood  at  the  door, — then  looked  out  of  the  window. 
Her  eyes  were  constantly  turning  from  one  side  to  the  other, 
and  every  little  noise  made  her  start.  For  myself,  I  was 
really  thankful  to  have  my  thoughts  occupied  by  her  and 
Miss  Milicent.  To  sit  in  the  dining-room  at  Dene,  and  feel 
myself  a  visitor  to  Jane  Shaw,  would  have  been  more  than 
I  could  have  borne  patiently,  if  I  had  had  leisure  to  think 
of  it.  Presently  there  was  a  loud  talking  in  the  passage, 
some  very  hearty  good-byes  were  exchanged,  and  then  the 
dining-room  door  was  thrown  open  very  wide,  and  Jane 
Shaw, — I  beg  her  pardon,  Mrs.  Price, — in  a  splendid  figured 
green  silk,  rustling  with  stiff  lining  and  flounces,  sailed  into 
the  room.  As  for  being  introduced,  there  was  no  need  of 
that ;  she  was  at  home  with  us  directly. 

"  Good  afternoon.  Miss  Weir ;  very  glad  to  see  you. 
Mrs.  Weir  is  pretty  well,  I  hope  ? — How  d'ye  do,  Ur- 
sula ?  " 

She  was  not  the  least  altered.  In  spite  of  her  handsome 
dress — her  hair  beautifully  plaited  according  to  the  newest 
fashion — her  rings,  and  chains,  and  bracelets — she  was 
Jane  Shaw  still.  Little  Jessie  Lee  was  ten  times  more  at- 
tractive, and  Miss  Milicent  in  her  rough  coat  and  beaver 
bonnet  much  more  like  a  lady. 

Miss  Milicent's  reply  was  abrupt,  as  might  be  expected 
from  her,  but  there  was  a  curious  kind  of  civility  in  the  tone 
which  I  was  not  used  to — it  seemed  to  throw  one  at  a  dis- 
tance.    I  wondered  whether  Jane  felt  it. 

"  My  mother  is  as  well  as  usual,  thank  you.  I  ought 
not  to  have  come  so  late  ;  I  must  beg  you  to  excuse  it,  but  I 
have  business  with  a  gentleman  staying  here." 

"  A  gentleman,  indeed  !  We  have  a  good  many  gen- 
tlemen here,  haven't  we,  Jessie  ? "  The  poor  child  col- 
oured crimson. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Macdonald,"  continued  Miss  Mili- 
cent. "  If  he  is  in  the  house,  perhaps  you  would  let  him  be 
told  that  I  am  here  ?  " 

"  Lieutenant  Macdonald  1  I  can't  say.  He  went  out  this 
morning.     He  may  be  returned.     The  gentlemen  are  not  to 


URSULA.  263 

be  reckoned  upon  in  this  shooting  season,  as  Jessie  knows." 
She  added  in  a  familiar  tone.  "  Perhaps  dear,  you  would 
just  see  if  the  Lieutenant  is  in  the  book-room  ?  " 

I  rose  and  looked  into  the  library  myself.  A  man 
dressed  in  a  shooting-jacket  was  lying  full  length  upon  a 
sofa.  His  face  was  handsome  but  the  expression  very  disa- 
greeable. It  was  Lieutenant  Macdonald  ;  I  just  knew  him 
by  sight,  and  Jessie  Lee  in  contrast  with  him  seemed  to  me 
like  an  angel. 

"  Mr.  Macdonald  is  there,  I  think,  Miss  Milieent,"  T 
said,  as  I  drew  back  from  the  door  ;  "  Would  you  wish  to  go 
in  ?  "  and  I  made  room  for  her  to  pass,  yet  in  such  a  way  as 
to  prevent  Jessie  from  being  seen.  Mrs.  Price  followed  to 
introduce  her. 

I  closed  the  door  behind  them,  and  we  heard  only  the 
low  murmur  of  voices. 

Then  I  went  up  to  Jessie.  "  Promise  me  one  thing,"  I 
said,  hurriedly,  "  that  you  won't  stay  here,  Jessie ;  that  you 
will  come  home  to  Sandcombe  with  me." 

She  hesitated.  "  You  must,"  I  continued ;  "  you  don't 
know  what  you  may  be  led  into." 

Mrs.  Price's  hand  touched  the  handle  of  the  door — I  was 
in  agony  for  the  answer — I  don't  know  what  possessed  me, 
but  I  added,  "  What  shall  I  be  able  to  say  of  you  to 
Roger  ?  " 

Jessie's  countenance  changed  in  an  instant.  She  looked 
at  me  with  a  winning  smile,  and  said,  "  I  will  do  what  you 
wish.     I  should  not  like  to  vex  Mr.  Roger." 

I  kissed  her.  She  seemed  to  me  like  a  child  saved  from 
danger.  Immediately  afterwards,  Mrs.  Price  burst  in  upon 
us.  She  could  not  have  understood  how  or  why  I  was 
there ;  indeed,  I  should  have  had  a  difficulty  in  explaining  it 
myself.  But  she  was  very  gracious  ;  most  unpleasantly  so. 
"  You  find  the  place  altered  since  you  were  here,  Ursula," 
she  began.  "  We  have  just  added  a  room  to  your  cottage, 
and  enlarged  the  billiard  room  ;  you  had  a  small  parlour,  I 
think,  and  the  kitchen.  I  dare  say  you  would  like  to  go 
over  and  see  it,  and  you  would  like  to  see  the  drawing-room, 
too,  no  doubt — Captain  Price  has  put  up  some  pictures,  and 
made  it  look  quite  different  from  what  it  was  in  poor  Mrs. 


264  URSULA. 

Weir's  time.  Our  groom  lives  in  your  cottage ;  it  just  does 
for  him  and  his  wife,  and  they  have  one  child.  I  will  show 
you  the  way,  if  you  like  it.  Jessie,  dear,  if  you'll  just  run 
up  to  my  room,  and  fetch  my  shawl — not  the  silk  one,  but 
the  cashmere — I  shall  be  obliged  to  you." 

Jessie  looked  proud  of  the  commission,  and  hurried  away, 
whilst  Mrs.  Price  took  me  into  her  drawing-room,  profess- 
ing to  show  me  the  pictures,  but  pointing  out  also  the  new 
carpet,  and  curtains,  and  tables,  and  chairs,  everything  in 
fact  which  could  in  the  least  display  her  wealth,  and  contin- 
ually repeating,  "  We  have  been  obliged  to  make  such 
changes.  The  old  furniture  did  well  enough  for  poor  Mrs. 
Weir,  I  dare  say ;  but  it  wouldn't  suit  us." 

I  could  never  have  been  very  cordial  to  her  under  any 
circumstances,  and  now  every  word  she  said  jarred  upon  me, 
and  presently,  when  she  began  to  talk  of  Jessie,  I  was  more 
than  jarred,  I  was  provoked.  "  Jessie  was  such  a  sweet  girl," 
she  said,  "  she  was  quite  glad  to  have  the  chance  of  being 
useful  to  her  They  saw  a  good  deal  of  company,  and  Jessie 
had  many  admirers.  When  she  was  well  dressed,  there 
wasn't  a  prettier  girl  anywhere  round  the  country.  No 
doubt  she  would  marry  well." 

I  made  but  a  short  answer ;  if  I  had  said  all  that  was  in 
my  mind,  she  might  have  thought  me  jealous ;  but  looking 
out  of  the  window,  I  observed,  "  that  we  must  be  thinking  of 
going ;  Miss  Milicent  seemed  likely  to  be  kept  some  time, 
and  though  we  had  walked  over  to  Dene  together,  we  were  to 
return  separately.  Miss  Milicent  had  asked  me  to  come 
with  her,  because  she  was  a  stranger." 

"  Oh  !  indeed  1  I  didn't  understand.  I  wasn't  aware  why 
I  had  the  honour  of  a  visit."  Mrs.  Price's  manner  was  pe- 
culiar. I  could  not  tell  whether  she  felt  pleased  or  dis- 
pleased at  having  the  acquaintance  renewed.  Jessie  brought 
down  the  shawl,  and  we  went  over  to  the  cottage.  Mrs. 
Price  reminded  me  again  how  small  it  was,  and  only  fit  for 
the  groom,  and  tried  to  impress  upon  me  that  she  was  a  great 
lady,  and  I  was  no  lady  at  all ;  and  yet  she  asked  me  ques- 
tions about  Sandcombe,  and  every  now  and  then  hinted  that 
of  course  I  should  come  and  see  her  again.  I  let  her  talk  as 
she  liked,  not  professing  to  be   equal  to  her   in   worldly 


URSULA.  265 

position ;  it  did  not  distress  me  to  be  put  down  by  her,  my 
only  difficulty  was  to  keep  myself  from  looking  down  upon 
her  for  other  causes.  But  that  which  was  more  in  my 
thoughts  than  anything  else  was,  what  could  be  done  with 
Jessie.  If  she  were  to  go  with  me  to  Longside  she  would  be 
in  the  way ;  but  I  did  not  choose  to  let  her  walk  to  Hatton 
alone,  and  still  less  could  I  bear  to  leave  her  at  Dene.  It 
seemed  to  me  as  though  she  had  been  providentially  placed 
under  my  care,  and  that  I  wan  responsible  for  her.  I  could 
not  tell  what  to  decide.  We  went  into  the  cottage,  and 
spoke  to  the  groom's  wife,  and  I  looked  round  upon  the  old 
familiar  walls  with  an  eye  that  in  fact  saw  nothing.  I  could 
have  sat  there  for  hours  and  thought,  if  I  had  been  alone, 
but  I  had  no  feeling  whilst  Jane  Price  was  at  my  side. 
Only  for  one  moment,  whilst  she,  and  Jessie,  and  the  woman, 
were  talking  apart,  the  present  seemed  to  vanish  away  like  a 
mist,  and  the  past  was  all  before  me.  Roger  in  his  arm- 
chair, the  table  set  out  for  tea,  the  kettle  standing  on  the 
hearth,  so  cheerful,  so  peaceful ! — Oh,  what  a  pang  shot 
through  me  !     Would  such  days  ever  return  again  ? 

Miss  Milicent  came  out  of  the  house  just  as  we  were  re- 
turning to  it.  A  burning  spot  flushed  her  cheek,  and  she 
rushed  up  to  me.  "  We  will  go  now,  Ursie  ;  are  you  ready  ? 
Mrs.  Price,  I  am  sorry  to  have  interrupted  you,"  and  Miss 
Milicent  made  a  wonderfully  polite  bend.  "  I  wish  you  good 
evening." 

The  words  were  not  thoroughly  articulate,  they  came  out 
so  fast,  and  Miss  Milicent  hurried  on  up  the  hill,  whilst  I 
vainly  tried  to  overtake  her,  and  then  looked  back,  and  to 
my  dismay  saw  Lieutenant  Macdonald  issue  from  the  house 
and  join  Mrs.  Price  and  Jessie.  I  returned  to  them 
directly,  but  not  before  a  few  words  had  been  interchanged 
between  Jessie  and  Mr.  Macdonald.  "  Please  be  quick, 
Jessie,"  I  said,  "  Miss  Milicent  is  gone." 

Jessie  looked  at  me,  half  doubtful,  half  frightened. 

"  Come,"  I  repeated,  decidedly.  "  I  must  follow  Miss 
Milicent." 

"  You  were  not  going  with  her  ;  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean,"   replied   Jessie;    and  Mrs.    Price   turned   upon  me 
hastily,  and  said  that  Jessie  was  intending  to  stay  with  her. 
Vol.  1—12 


266  URSULA. 

"  You  promised,  Jessie,"  I  said. 

"  Promised,  what  ?  She  is  engaged  to  me,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Price.  She  began,  I  am  sure,  to  suspect  my  motive  for 
interference. 

Mr.  Macdonald  had  withdrawn  a  few  paces,  and  I  took 
care  that  he  should  not  have  the  opportunity  of  addressing 
Jessie  again,  though  what  she  had  already  said  had  been, 
evidently,  in  no  way  pleasing  to  him.  Jessie  herself  seemed 
so  irresolute,  that  once  more  I  was  induced  to  use  the  wea- 
pon of  persuasion  which  I  had  tried  successfully. 

"  You  know,  Jessie,"  I  said,  "  you  told  me  that  you  did 
not  wish  to  vex  me  nor  any  one  else."  I  stressed  the  last 
words,  and  saw  that  she  understood  them.  She  made  a  con- 
fused excuse  to  Mrs.  Price,  a  half  curtsy  to  the  Lieutenant, 
and  we  followed  Miss  Milicent  up  the  hill. 

I  breathed  freely  when  I  found  myself  outside  the  white 
gate ;  yet  the  relief  only  lasted  for  a  few  moments.  I  felt  so 
provoked  with  Jessie  for  her  weakness ;  so  annoyed  at  having 
my  engagement  for  the  evening  interfered  with ;  so  anxious 
too,  for  Miss  Milicent,  who  was  still  striding  on  at  a  man's 
pace  before  us. 

I  kept  Jessie's  arm  within  mine,  but  without  talking  to 
her.  Really  I  did  not  know  what  to  say.  After  a  few  mo- 
ments I  looked  at  her,  and  saw  she  was  crying.  My  heart 
softened  towards  her  then ;  I  said,  gently,  "  You  are  not 
sorry  you  kept  your  promise,  Jessie,  are  you  ?  " 

The  tears  only  came  the  faster  for  the  inquiry.  I  re- 
peated it. 

"  I  didn't  keep  it,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  can't  keep  any- 
thing or  do  anything  that's  right,  Ursie  ;  you  had  better  tell 
Mr.  Roger  so  at  once,  and  then  he  will  give  me  up  as  good 
for  nothing." 

Her  thoughts  were  dwelling  then  upon  Roger.  I  noticed 
it,  but  it  did  not  strike  me  as  unsafe  or  unwise.  It  was  like 
the  feeling  of  a  child  for  a  parent. 

"  Neither  Roger  nor  I  will  give  you  up,  Jessie,"  I  said, 
"  not  for  all  the  world.  But  if  you  don't  want  to  run  the 
risk  of  making  j^ourself  miserable  for  life,  you  must  keep  out 
of  the  way  of  temptation.  Dene  is  not  a  fit  place  for  you. 
Jane  Shaw  wasn't  over  careful  in  her  conduct  as  a  girl,  and 


URSULA.  267 

she  is  not  any  better,  that  I  can  hear,  now  that  she  is  mar- 
ried ;  she  has  very  few  women  friends,  and  the  men  are  a 
bad  set,  as  you  quite  well  know,  and  it  would  just  be  ruin  to 
you  in  all  ways  to  be  mixed  up  with  them." 

I  waited  for  her  to  assent,  but  she  only  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  "  Then  Mr.  Roger  wouldn't  like  to  see  me 
married." 

"  Yes,  he  would  like  it  very  much,"  I  answered,  "  if  you 
were  to  marry  respectably  ;  so  would  all  who  care  for  you." 

"  I  don't  believe  that  any  one  who  is  respectable,  as  you 
call  it,  will  ever  take  up  with  me,"  exclaimed  Jessie.  "  If 
Mr.  Roger  thinks  I  have  a  bad  name,  so  will  others." 

She  longed  for  me  to  contradict  her,  I  am  sure,  but  I  would 
not  do  so  just  then.  She  was  out  of  conceit  with  herself, 
and  wished  me  to  say  something  civil  that  might  put  her  in 
again  ;  but  though  I  was  very  sorry  for  her,  I  was  certain  it 
was  good  for  her  to  feel  that  her  careless  ways  had  done  her 
harm  in  people's  opinion.  Besides,  I  had  no  wish  to  go  on 
talking  about  Roger.  I  felt  I  had  not  been  wise  in  saying 
as  much  as  I  had  about  him.  Jessie  was  so  fond  of  being 
talked  about,  even  in  the  way  of  being  scolded,  that  it  only 
increased  her  vanity  to  remind  her  that  any  one  was  anxious 
about  her,  especially  a  person  whom  she  so  much  respected 
and  looked  up  to  as  Roger.  I  cut  the  conversation  short  by 
saying  that  I  must  run  on  and  have  a  few  words  with  Miss 
Milicent.  That,  however,  was  not  so  easily  accomplished. 
Miss  Milicent  had  walked  on  so  fast  that  I  could  not  over- 
take her,  and  when  I  began  to  consider,  though  I  thought  it 
very  strange  in  her  to  go  off  from  me  in  such  a  sudden  way, 
I  saw  it  was  no  business  of  mine  to  thrust  myself  upon  her. 
Instead  of  following  her,  therefore,  I  came  back  to  Jessie, 
and  proposed  that  we  should  both  make  the  best  of  our  way 
to  Sandcombe.  How  disappointed  I  felt  at  losing  my  visit 
to  Longside  I  can't  say ;  and  I  thought  how  they  would  be 
expecting  me,  and  once  or  twice  was  sorely  tempted  to  go 
there  after  all ;  but  it  would  never  have  done  to  take  Jes- 
sie ;  it  would  quite  have  cut  up  our  evening.  If  I  had 
wished  to  have  any  talk  with  Mary  I  must  have  left  Jessie 
alone,  or  burdened  Mrs.  Kemp  with  her,  and  that  I  should 
have  disliked  extremely,  for  she  was  not  over  pleased,  as  I 


268  URSULA. 

well  knew,  with  the  character  that  Jessie  had  gained  for 
herself.  One  has  no  right  to  put  people  together  till  one  is 
tolerably  sure  they  are  willing  to  be  friends. 

Moreover  it  was  not  a  fixed  engagement  at  Longside.  I 
was  always  obliged  to  say  I  would  come  if  I  could,  but  they 
must  not  expect  me  for  certain.  I  could  never  answer  for 
what  might  happen  with  Leah  to  detain  me  at  home. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

A  STORM  of  hail  came  on  just  when  we  were  off  the 
Down,  which  made  me  the  more  glad  that  I  had  decided  to 
return.  It  had  been  gathering  for  some  time,  but  I  had  not 
noticed  it  much,  having  my  mind  given  to  other  things.  It 
would  have  drenched  us  thoroughly  long  before  we  could 
have  reached  Longside,  and  I  should  have  been  sorry  for 
this,  more  for  Jessie's  sake  than  my  own.  I  was  strong  and 
able  to  bear  all  weathers ;  but  Jessie  was  of  a  weak  consti- 
tution and  often  taking  cold. 

"  They  will  be  just  sitting  down  to  tea,  Jessie,"  I  said, 
as  I  took  her  up-stairs  to  my  room,  that  she  might  leave  her 
bonnet  and  shawl  there ;  "  they  will  be  surprised  to  see  us." 

Jessie  was  disinclined  to  go  down ;  she  looked  pale  and 
tired,  and  proposed  to  wait  where  she  was  till  the  hail  was 
over,  and  then  walk  to  Hatton.  But  this  I  would  not  hear 
of.  She  could  sleep,  I  said,  very  well  in  my  bed  ;  and  one 
of  the  farm  boys  who  lived  at  Hatton,  would  carry  a  mes- 
sage to  say  where  she  was.  "  I  am  sure,  Jessie,"  I  added, 
"  that  whenever  you  are  at  Dene,  Mrs.  Morris  doesn't  expect 
you  back  till  she  sees  you,  and  so  she  won't  be  in  any  fright 
about  you,  knowing  that  you  set  off  with  the  intention  of 
walking  there." 

Jessie  blushed  but  made  no  answer  ;  and  a  fear  crossed 
my  mind,  that  perhaps  she  was  in  the  habit  of  paying  visits 
to  Dene  oftener  than  her  friends  knew.  I  could  not  bear  to 
think  it  of  her,  for  she  was  true  by  nature,  though  sometimes 
inclined  to  keep  things  back  from  fear.  But  vanity  and  love 
of  amusement  will  lead  to  so  much  evil,  which  no  one  has 
any  idea  of  at  first. 


URSULA.  269 

I  left  her  to  go  and  explain  to  Leah  why  I  had  returned ; 
but  when  I  entered  the  parlour  I  found  no  tea  prepared, — 
not  even  the  tea-tray  put  out, — and  the  room  looked  so  cheer- 
less !  The  fire  had  gone  out,  and  some  one  had  been  trying 
to  re-light  it ;  for  a  few  sticks  were  lying  about,  and  the  coal- 
scuttle stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  I  went  to  the 
kitchen,  and  found  no  one,  but  I  heard  voices  in  the  dis- 
tance, loud  and  angry ;  they  came,  I  was  nearly  sure,  from 
the  dairy,  and  I  went  there  to  see  what  was  going  on. 

It  was  so  dark  that  I  stumbled  over  something  which 
was  lying  on  the  ground  at  the  door ;  it  was  like  part  of  a 
broken  dish,  and  my  foot  went  into  a  pool,  whether  of  milk 
or  of  water  I  could  not  see.  Leah  and  Esther  were  in  the 
dairy.  They  did  not  perceive  me  ;  Leah  was  in  what  I  can 
only  call  a  towering  passion,  a  thing  rare  for  her ;  she  was 
bitter  and  cross,  but  not  generally  passionate.  I  heard  my 
name  mentioned.  "  Miss  Grant  lets  you  do  it,  does  she  ? 
You  are  not  to  attend  to  Miss  Grant,  you  are  to  attend  to 
me,  I  am  your  mistress.  But  you'll  leave  me ;  I  don't  keep 
good-for-nothing  girls,  who  tell  lies !  "  And  then  Esther 
rejoined,  not  very  respectfully  but  very  earnestly,  denying 
that  she  had  said  anything  which  was  untrue ;  and  was  im- 
mediately contradicted  by  Leah  with  fresh  threats  of  being 
turned  off  instantly.  What  was  the  beginning  or  likely  to 
be  the  end  of  the  quarrel,  I  could  not  see ;  but  I  was  quite 
sure  that  Esther  had  been  kept  at  work  later  than  was  right, 
and  that  she  would  have  a  long  dark  walk  over  the  hill  by 
herself,  if  some  one  did  not  take  thought  for  her  ;  so  I  quietly 
drew  back,  and  made  my  way  into  the  farm-yard,  and  told 
Sam  Hobson,  Kitty's  father,  whom  I  knew  1  should  find  at 
work  there,  that  he  was  not  to  go  without  having  a  word 
with  me  first.  He  was  a  steady  man,  and  lived  near  the 
Smithsons,  and  I  was  sure  he  would  see  Esther  safe  home. 
Then  I  went  back  to  the  dairy.  Leah  had  left  it,  but  I 
found  Esther  sobbing  at  the  door.  She  told  me  her  grievance. 
She  had  washed  the  milk-buckets  carefully,  as  I  ordered  her, 
and  cleaned  the  ladles,  and  prepared  everything  for  the  milk 
when  it  was  brought  in ;  and  she  was  going  to  scour  the 
pans  that  would  be  wanted  the  next  morning,  when  she  was 
called  away  by  Martha,  and  sent  on  a  message  across  the 


270  URSULA. 

fields,  which  took  her  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
When  she  came  back  she  found  some  milk,  which  had  been 
put  into  a  brown  pan,  spilt,  and  the  pan  itself  broken  to 
pieces.  She  had  no  more  to  do  with  it,  she  said,  than  I  had  ; 
and  she  went  directly  and  told  Martha,  but  Martha  didn't 
believe  her,  neither  did  Mrs.  Grant.  No  one  else,  they  said, 
had  been  near  the  dairy,  and  it  must  have  been  her  doing ; 
and  so  they  wanted  to  make  her  confess  it.  "  But  I  wouldn't 
tell  a  story  for  them,  nor  for  the  Queen  !  "  exclaimed  Esther, 
indignantly.  "  I  didn't  do  it,  and  if  they  were  to  cut  my 
head  off,  I  wouldn't  say  that  I  did." 

There  was  one  point,  however,  in  which  Esther  no  doubt 
was  wrong ;  it  was  part  of  her  usual  carelessness  ;  she  had 
been  always  told  to  shut  the  dairy  door  when  she  came  out, 
and  this  had  been  forgotten.  But  she  owned  it  at  once. 
She  was  a  thoughtless  girl,  but  not  given  to  falsehood.  I , 
had  no  doubt  myself  that  the  mischief  was  done  by  the  cat, 
and  I  made  her  fetch  a  candle,  and  we  went  into  the  dairy 
together.  I  pointed  out  the  marks  of  the  creature's  feet  on 
the  boards ;  Esther  was  satisfied  then,  she  thought  the 
trouble  was  over.  As  for  the  threatening,  and  the  scolding, 
she  had  been  used  to  them  from  one  or  the  other  all  her  life, 
and  I  doubt  if  she  considered  it  possible  to  get  on  without 
them.  She  had  learnt  to  look  upon  herself  as  fated  to  do 
wrong.  As  she  once  said  to  me,  "  Please,  Miss  Grant,  I 
was  born  to  go  crooked." 

I  was  very  provoked  with  Leah  in  my  own  mind  for  having 
raised  such  a  storm,  without  having  given  herself  the  trouble 
of  inquiring  into  the  case,  but  I  supposed  it  would  all  be 
right  when  once  I  explained  matters.  I  did  not  understand 
Leah,  however ;  perhaps  I  should  more  truly  say  I  did  not 
understand  human  nature.  There  is  no  saying  how  far  we 
are  all  at  times  tempted  to  depart  from  what  is  just,  from  the 
shame  of  allowing  that  we  have  been  unjust.  When  I  went 
in,  Leah  was  kneeling  down  before  the  parlour  fire  trying  to 
re-light  it.  Esther  had  brought  damp  sticks,  and  they  would 
not  catch ;  the  shavings  were  burnt  out,  and  there  were  only 
a  few  scraps  of  paper  to  use  instead. 

"  It  was  too  late  to  get  to  Longside,  Leah,"  I  said,  by 
way  of  explanation,  "  so  I  am  come  back.     Can't  I   help 


URSULA.  271 

you  ?  There's  a  '  Weekly  Messenger '  in  the  drawer  which 
I  suppose  may  be  used." 

''  You'll  please  let  that  stay,"  was  the  reply.  "  There's 
an  advertisement  in  it  which  William  wants  to  have  kept. 
It's  all  that  girl's  fault — green  sticks  like  these  !  They 
won't  light  for  a  twelvemonth."  Leah  caught  up  the  match- 
box, rubbed  her  last  match,  and  found  that  it  wouldn't  go 
off,  and  then  tossed  the  box  upon  the  table,  and  sat  down  in 
William's  leathern  arm-chair  with  her  arms  folded.  I  went 
out  to  the  kitchen,  and  brought  back  some  more  shavings, 
and  another  box  of  matches.  "  Certainly,"  I  said,  as  I 
gathered  up  the  green  sticks,  "  it  is  very  tiresome.  There 
are  plenty  of  dry  faggots  in  the  wood-house,  I  know." 

"  This  sort  of  thing  won't  go  on,"  said  Leah,  not  at  all 
hastily,  but  in  a  tone  which  to  me  was  much  worse. 

I  made  no  reply. 

"  I  shall  go  over  to  Compton  to-morrow,"  she  continued, 
"  and  tell  Mrs.  Richardson  so.  I  can't  have  liars  in  my 
house.  They  will  look  a  long  time  before  they  see  any  more 
of  my  money  for  Compton  school,  if  that  is  the  way  they 
bring  their  girls  up." 

I  was  afraid  I  should  only  irritate  her  more  by  answer- 
ing, but  I  could  not  hear  a  false  accusation  without  trying  to 
put  it  right,  .so  I  explained  what  had  really  been  the  case 
about  the  milk.  All  I  gained  in  reply  was,  "  Very  likely; 
it  might  be  true,  or  it  mightn't;  but  Esther  was  a  girl  who 
wasn't  to  be  trusted.  She  could  not  even  lay  a  fire.  She 
never  remembered  a  thing  that  was  told  her;  and  if  she 
didn't  break  the  dish  herself,  she  was  the  cause  of  its  being 
broken,  and  that  was  just  as  bad.  So  impertinent  she  was 
too, — and  sm  h  a  quantity  of  milk  spilt, — Mrs.  Weir  must  go 
without  it,  there  wouldn't  be  a  drop  for  her, — old  customers 
must  be  attended  to  first."  These  and  many  more  remarks, 
equally  annoying,  I  had  to  bear  in  the  best  way  I  could,  and 
that  I  thought  was  silently ;  but  silence  only  made  matters 
worse.  When  Leah  found  herself  uncontradicted,  she  turned 
her  wrath  upon  me.  It  was  all  my  doing,  I  was  at  the  bot- 
tom of  every  mischief:  it  was  I  who  had  insisted  upon 
taking  Esther ;  I,  who  had  taught  her  badly — indeed,  had 
entirely  neglected  her.     If  I  could  have  believed  her,  my 


272  URSULA. 

love  of  going  about  visiting  was  the  cause  of  the  mishap  in 
the  dairy,  and  the  green  sticks,  and  the  extinguished  fire. 

I  was  not  unaccustomed  to  such  accusations.  I  went  on 
trying  to  make  the  fire  burn,  and  by  the  help  of  the  bellows 
succeeded  at  last,  so  that  the  room  was  quite  cheerful  with  a 
blaze ;  and  then  I  set  out  the  tea-tray,  and  brought  in  the 
bread  and  butter,  and  put  out  some  cake  for  William,  Leah 
all  the  time  not  taking  the  least  notice,  but  sitting  moodily 
apart.  At  length,  when  she  found  she  could  not  get  a  word 
from  me,  she  went  up-stairs. 

I  give  no  credit  to  myself  for  forbearance.  It  was 
simply  a  matter  of  necessity.  If  I  had  said  one  word  I  must 
have  said  a  hundred.  I  was,  in  fact,  so  angry,  that  I  could 
not  trust  myself  to  speak.  Perhaps,  with  such  a  violent 
temper  as  mine  was  naturally,  and  a  principle  of  religion 
which  had  not,  as  it  were,  come  to  its  full  growth,  this  was 
as  much  as  I  could  expect.  But  it  would  have  been  better 
if  I  had  learnt  to  turn  my  wrathful  feelings  into  prayers.  I 
might  not  then  have  heard  all  the  bitter  things  Leah  said, 
and  I  am  sure  I  should  not  have  treasured  them  in  my  heart 
as  I  did.  I  went  up-stairs  to  find  Jessie,  and  gave  vent  before 
her  more  than  I  ought  to  have  done,  and  that  did  me  no 
good,  especially  as  Jessie  was  inclined  to  take  Leah's  part, 
partly,  I  think,  because  she  felt  vexed  with  me  for  not  having 
flattered  her  more. 

After  a  while,  I  sent  Jessie  down  to  explain  for  herself 
why  she  was  there,  and  to  make  tea  if  she  was  wanted,  and 
presently  I  heard  her  talking  away  quite  cheerfully  to  Wil- 
liam. I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  go  down  myself, 
but  there  I  sat  close  to  the  window,  looking  out  upon  the 
heavy  clouds  which  came  floating  across  the  sky,  tinged 
with  a  faint  glow  from  the  sunset.  I  was  better  in  some 
degree,  for  I  had  tried  to  pray  for  a  few  moments  when 
Jessie  left  me,  and  my  temper  was  quieter  ;  but  I  could  not 
forget  what  had  passed,  and  my  thoughts  were  gloomy  as  the 
deepening  twilight.  Mrs.  Price,  Leah,  Jessie,  Esther,  all  seem- 
ed going  the  wrong  way ;  some  from  one  cause,  some  from  an- 
other. And  there  was  no  way  of  doing  good.  I  thought  I  was  to 
be  useful  to  Esther,  but  she  was  to  be  taken  away  from  me.  I 
wished  to  save  Jessie,  but  she  depended  upon  Leah  more  than 


URSULA.  273 

upon  me.  I  had  cherished  a  hope,  when  I  came  to  Sandcombe, 
of  persuading  William,  if  not  Leah,  to  look  upon  things  in 
a  different  way,  but  I  did  not  see  that  I  had  the  slightest  in- 
fluence. William  was  not  at  all  more  constant  at  church 
because  I  went  twice.  He  took  the  Sunday  afternoons  for 
settling  the  accounts  just  the  same,  and  never  read  anything 
but  the  "  Mark  Lane  Express  "  or  the  "  Hove  Advertiser ;  " 
and  the  way  things  went  on  about  the  farm  and  the  servants 
was  not  altered  in  the  least.  My  life  seemed  quite  thrown 
away.  And  as  to  my  own  temper  and  principles,  I  had  only 
to  look  at  myself  at  that  moment  and  see  all  the  angry,  proud, 
revengeful  feelings  which  were  struggling  for  the  mastery,  to 
be  quite  sure  that  there  was  very  little  improvement  in  them. 
If  I  had  only  remained  with  Mrs.  Weir,  I  said  to  myself, — 
and  I  went  off  in  thought  into  a  consideration  of  what  might 
have  been  the  consequence,  both  to  her  and  myself,  when 
Jessie  ran  up-stairs  to  bring  me  down  to  tea,  saying  that 
William  was  tired  of  waiting. 

Leah  was  not  in  the  room.  Tea  was  poured  out,  and  she 
did  not  come  ;  and,  when  William  went  up  to  her,  he  brought 
back  word  that  she  had  a  headache,  and  was  lying  on  her 
bed.  William  was  in  very  good  spirits,  rather  merry  than 
otherwise.  He  was  pleased  to  have  Jessie  there,  and  joked 
her  about  Dene,  and  especially,  to  my  great  annoyance,  about 
Lieutenant  Macdonald.  I  rather  imprudently  carried  on 
the  subject,  by  repeating  what  I  had  heard  of  him,  and  es- 
pecially of  his  habit  of  drinking ;  and  William,  really,  I 
believe,  for  the  mere  amusement  of  contradicting,  took  his 
part,  and  made  light  of  it,  saying  that  it  was  what  all  young 
men  would  do  if  it  came  in  their  way,  only  some  had  the 
cleverness  to  conceal  it.  I  was  sure,  and  I  told  him  so,  that 
he  was  wrong.  I  don't  believe  that  either  Roger  or  John 
Hervey  ever  did  such  a  thing,  and  William  himself  was  always 
sober  from  a  boy.  It  vexed  me  that  he  should  say  such 
things  before  Jessie.  It  is  so  bad  for  any  one  to  have  a  low 
opinion  of  others  ;  and  moreover  it  has  always  been  a  puzzle 
to  me,  how  persons  can  talk  lightly  of  such  a  habit  as  Mr. 
Macdonald's.  Putting  aside  the  evil  in  this  world,  the  Bible 
always  classes  it  with  the  worst  sins.  To  hear  a  drunken 
scene  turned  into  ridicule,  is  to  me  like  hearing  people  laugh 
Vol.  1—12* 


274  URSULA. 

about  the  devil.  It  makes  me  shudder.  But  then,  the 
world  would  say  I  am  over  particular. 

When  Jessie  went  up-stairs  to  take  Leah  a  cup  of  tea,  I 
made  a  remark  of  this  kind  to  William,  and  brought  him  to 
agree  with  me.  I  did  not  like  to  tell  him  how  matters  really 
stood  between  Jessie  and  the  Lieutenant,  but  I  said  enough 
to  put  him  on  his  guard,  and  make  him  feel  that  to  encourage 
Jessie  in  thinking  about  such  a  man,  was  very  unwise  to  say 
the  least.  There  was  something  in  William  which  I  could 
always  reach  when  I  had  him  to  myself.  It  was  not  good- 
ness or  principle,  I  am  afraid,  but  it  was  a  kind  of  straight- 
forward sense  and  perception  of  truth.  Selfishness  blinded 
him  whenever  he  did  see  things  crookedly.  The  provoking 
thing  was,  that  one  never  could  depend  upon  him.  He  might 
agree  with  everything  that  was  said  one  minute,  and  the 
next  he  would  go  and  act  directly  against  it. 

Jessie,  when  she  came  down,  said  that  Leah's  head  was 
very  bad,  and  she  thought  she  had  caught  cold  standing  about 
in  the  dairy ;  I  offered  to  go  up  to  her,  but  Jessie  thought  I 
had  better  not.  She  did  not  exactly  say  that  Leah  was  too 
much  put  out  with  me  to  see  me,  but  I  was  certain  it  was  so. 
It  did  not  strike  me,  however,  that  there  could  be  much  the 
matter,  for  Jessie  told  me  that  Leah  had  talked  about  a 
dinner  party  which  she  thought  of  giving  the  week  after 
Christmas,  and  a  card  party  had  been  mentioned  too.  Gen- 
erally speaking  but  little  visiting  went  on  round  Sandcombe, 
the  farms  were  so  scattered,  William  and  Leah  however  always 
gave  rather  a  grand  party  at  Christmas- time,  and  Leah  went 
out  a  good  deal  then,  sometimes  as  often  as  twice  in  the  week. 

Jessie  cared  little  for  dinner  or  cards,  what  she  wanted 
was  a  dance ;  but  she  could  not  bring  Leah  round  upon  that 
point,  she  said,  and  I  own  I  was  not  very  sorry  for  it. 

We  sat  rather  long  gossiping  over  the  fire  after  tea. 
When  William  went  out  to  look  round  the  farm,  Jessie  very 
good-naturedly  offered  to  see  to  one  or  two  things  which  I 
was  in  the  habit  of  attending  to,  and  left  me  at  my  work. 
But  presently  she  came  back  with  a  note  in  her  hand.  It 
had  been  brought,  she  said,  from  Stonecliff,  and  the  man  was 
waiting  to  know  if  there  was  any  answer. 

"  Let  him  go  and  warm  himself  by  the  kitchen-fire, 


URSULA.  275 

Jessie,"  I  said,  "  it  will  take  some  time  to  read  this ;  and 
perhaps  you  will  just  look  out  a  pen  and  some  paper  for  me, 
in  case  I  should  have  to  write."  1  drew  the  candle  near 
and  began  to  read.  No  spectacles  were  required ;  Miss 
Milicent's  letters  might  have  been  distinguished  from  each 
other,  half  across  the  room  : — 

"  I  went  away  from  you  to-day  in  a  hurry,  Ursie  Grant, 
but  why  did  you  not  come  after  me  ?  I  expected  you. 
There  is  a  great  deal  to  say  to  you ;  more  than  I  can  put  on 
paper  to-night.  Lieutenant  Macdouald  was  half-tipsy,  I 
don't  think  he  knew  what  he  was  saying.  Come  over  to- 
morrow morning  if  you  can,  and  if  you  can't,  come  to-mor- 
row afternoon.  Matilda  Temple  complains  of  the  Sandcombe 
butter ;  I  don't  eat  butter  myself  My  mother  has  had  a 
bad  nervous  attack ;  Matilda  Temple  has  been  with  her  all 
the  afternoon.  As  I  said,  she  won't  let  her  go  to  my  father. 
I  should  like  to  know  how  much  we  are  to  believe  of  the 
news.  I  should  not  like  to  live  in  France,  but  it  might  be 
better  than  Stonecliff.  Matilda  Temple  means  to  go  and 
hear  the  school-children  examined  at  Hatton  to-morrow.  It 
is  not  her  parish,  but  it  will  take  her  out  of  your  way,  if  you 
come  over.  If  you  hear  of  any  one  who  wants  sea-anemonies, 
you  may  send  me  word ;  I  shall  give  mine  away  if  we  go  to 
France. 

"  I  am,  Ursie  Grrant, 

"  Your  sincere  friend, 

"  MiLicENT  Weir." 

Not  much  of  an  answer  could  be  given  to  this  note,  it 
was  too  perplexing ;  but  I  wrote  because  I  would  not  trust 
to  a  message,  lest  there  might  be  some  fret  with  Mrs.  Temple. 
If  she  knew  I  was  likely  to  be  at  Stoneclifi",  she  might  pos- 
sibly put  herself  in  my  way.  I  merely  said,  however,  that 
if  I  possibly  could,  I  would  walk  over  in  the  course  of  the 
afternoon,  but  Miss  Milicent  must  not  be  vexed  with  me  if  I 
did  not  come,  for  I  could  not  answer  for  myself;  and  the 
man  was  sent  back. 

"  Ursie,"  said  William  to  me  that  night,  when  I  went  to 


276  U  E  S  U  L  A  . 

bed,  "  Leah  has  a  terrible  cold ;  what  do  you  think  I  had 
better  give  her  ?  " 

I  recommended  something  warm,  but  I   did  not  offer 
again  to  go  and  see  her. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

I  WOKE  the  next  morning  with  the  feeling  that  all  the 
business  of  the  house  depended  upon  me.  I  was  dressed 
long  before  daylight,  and  down-stairs  helping  Jessie  to  get 
breakfast,  because  Esther  came  late.  I  went  to  the  dairy, 
and  fed  the  poultry,  and  gave  the  orders  for  the  day,  and  I 
made  the  tea,  and  cut  the  bread  for  breakfast,  and  talked  to 
William  and  Jessie,  and  arranged  for  Jessie  to  stay  the  day, 
because  of  Leah's  being  ill ;  in  fact  I  did  everything  for 
every  one,  except  myself  I  was  in  a  proud  mood,  and  I 
would  not  get  the  better  of  it ;  "  If  Leah  does  not  send  for 
me,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  she  may  just  do  without  me." 

Jessie  declared  she  was  very  feverish.  I  asked  if  a 
doctor  should  see  her,  and  William  laughed  at  the  notion. 
In  the  afternoon,  before  I  went  over  to  StonecliflF,  I  told 
Jessie  to  go  up-stairs  and  let  Leah  know  I  was  going.  I 
thought  perhaps  that  she  would  wish  to  see  me  then,  for 
there  had  been  some  more  trouble  about  the  butter,  and  I 
knew  she  had  a  message  to  send.  But  Jessie  only  brought 
back  word  that  I  was  to  tell  Mrs.  Weir  there  would  be  no 
butter  all  the  winter.  It  vexed  me  more  than  I  would  quite 
own  to  myself  to  go  off  and  leave  her,  though  it  would  be 
only  for  a  few  hours,  without  having  had  a  word  of  peace 
with  her,  and  the  next  day  Christmas-day  too,  and  I  prepar- 
ing for  the  Communion.  I  actually  turned  back,  after  I  had 
reached  the  farm-yard  gate,  resolved  to  see  her,  but  Jessie 
told  me  she  was  asleep  then,  so  it  was  of  no  use,  and  I  con- 
tinued my  walk. 

Stonecliff  was  a  much  better  house  than  the  cottage  on 
the  heath.  It  had,  besides,  a  good-sized  garden,  and  a  coach- 
house and  stables.  A  tolerably  large  income  would  have 
been  required  to  live  there  comfortably,  for  it  was  a  kind  of 
place  which  would  naturally  occasion  expenses. 


URSULA.  277 

The  garden  gave  most  trouble,  for  the  place  lay  quite  open 
to  the  south-west,  and  the  salt  spray  dried  up  the  vegetation ; 
but  there  was  a  glorious  view  to  make  up  for  it,  all  over  the 
bay  to  the  great  white  cliflPs,  and  the  far  distant  coast,  which 
could  be  seen  like  a  grey  cloud  on  the  edge  of  the  sea ;  and 
the  sound  of  the  dashing  waves,  and  the  feeling  of  the  fresh, 
free  breeze,  came  to  one  with  such  a  gift  of  life,  and  hope,  and 
strength — in  spite  of  its  wildness,  I  could  have  been  very 
fond  of  Stonecliff  if  it  had  been  my  home. 

I  found  Miss  Milicent  in  a  little  study,  opening  out  of 
the  drawing-room.  She  was  drying  sea-weeds ;  but  said  as 
I  entered,  without  looking  up  from  her  occupation,  "  There's 
a  chair  for  you,  Ursie;  I  am  glad  you  are  come." 

"  I  hope  Mrs.  Weir  is  better  to-day,  Miss  Milicent,"  I 
said. 

"  She  may  be  better,  but  she  is  not  quieter." 

"  Was  the  news  yesterday  so  very  bad?  "  I  ventured  to 
ask. 

She  pushed  aside  the  table  at  which  she  had  been  busy, 
and  turning  round  to  face  me,  replied,  "  Your  name  is  not 
Weir,  Ursie  Grant,  and  you  can't  understand." 

"  Perhaps  not,  entirely,"  I  said,  "  but  no  one  can  blame 
you,  nor  Mrs.  Weir,  Miss  Milicent,  whatever  may  be  wrong." 

"  Listen  to  me,  Ursie,"  she  continued,  and  she  leaned 
her  clenched  hand  on  the  table,  and  bent  forward  with 
eagerness.  "  I  had  to  talk  to  that  man  yesterday,  and  he 
was  not  sober,  and  he  called  himself  our  friend,  the  friend  of 
the  family,  and  he  wanted  to  shake  hands — who  was  to  bear 
that  ?  " 

"  He  was  not  the  more  your  friend  for  calling  himself 
so,"  I  replied. 

"  But  he  is,"  she  added,  bitterly,  and  she  walked  away 
suddenly  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  "  You  are  an  honest 
girl,"  she  added,  returning,  and  placing  both  her  hands  on 
my  shoulders.  "  You  won't  think  lower  of  us  because  our 
name  is  Weir ;  I  was  proud  enough  of  the  name  once,"  she 
added,  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  Indeed,  Miss  Milicent,"  I  said,  "  you  know  well  enough 
that  it  is  an  honour  to  me  to  do  anything  I  can  for  you. 
You  have  only  to  tell  me  what.     I  am  very  sorry  you  were 


278  URSULA. 

so  annoyed  yesterday  with  seeing  that  disagreeable  man,  but 
perhaps  you  won't  have  to  do  it  again." 

"  I  shall  though,  Ursie.  I  must  go  there  again.  There 
is  a  great  deal  to  arrange  with  him.  He  knows  all  my 
father's  concerns." 

The  veins  in  her  forehead  swelled  as  she  spoke  the  words. 
I  gazed  at  her  in  surprise.  Such  proud  feelings  I  had  never 
remarked  in  her  before,  and  yet  I  could  scarcely  call  them 
proud.  In  her  place  I  should  have  felt  as  she  did,  and  not 
blamed  myself.  Mr.  Weir  had  once  been  a  gentleman, 
honoured  and  respected.     She  could  never  forget  that. 

"  Mr.  Richardson,  or  Mr.  Temple,  would  see  him  for  you," 
I  began  ;  but  she  interrupted  me. 

"No,  Ursie,  no  spies,  no  strangers,  none  but  his  daughter 
shall  hear  of  him.  And  I  couldn't  talk  to  any  one  but  you," 
she  added,  as  large  tears  coursed  themselves  down  her  cheek. 

Poor  thing  !  Words  can't  express  how  sorry  I  felt  for  her, 
but  I  could  not  understand  why  she  should  choose  me  to  talk 
to.     It  came  out,  however,  very  soon. 

"  You  know  all,  Ursie,"  she  said,  "  the  difficulties  and 
tempers ;  my  mother's  ways,  and  Matilda  Temple's ;  you  un- 
derstand it.  I  can't  go  and  tell  Mr.  Richardson  every  thing  ; 
and  I  trust  you,  Ursie;  I  trust  you  with  all  my  heart."   . 

I  gave  her  my  hand,  and  she  grasped  it  heartily. 

"  The  trouble  is  about  helping  him,"  she  continued. 
"  This  man  says  he  wants  money,  and  that  he  is  going  to 
join  in  a  business— wine-selling,  I  think ;  but  I  don't  put 
faith  in  what  is  told  me ;  only  he  declares,  my  father  is  so 
poor  now,  if  he  could  have  help  he  would  go  on  steadily. 
What  does  Lieutenant  Macdonald  mean  by  steadiness  ?  " 

"  You  must  not  trust  Lieutenant  Macdonald,"  I  said. 
"  If  Mr.  Weir  is  found,  some  one  else  must  go  and  see  him, 
and  judge  what  is  really  the  state  of  the  case." 

"  And  who  ?  "  she  exclaimed.     "  My  mother  ?  '' 

"  Oh,  no  !  Miss  Milicent,  never.  How  could  you  think 
of  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  Then  I  ?  By  myself  ?  Leaving  my  mother  with  Matilda 
Temple?  I  have  thought  about  it." 

For  the  moment  it  seemed  the  only  plan.  Yet  for  her  to 
go  abroad  alone,  it  was  next  to  impossible,  and  I  said,  "  You 
would  not  trust  Mr.  Temple,  I  suppose.  Miss  Milicent  ?  " 


URSULA.  279 

"  Trust  a  baby  in  long  clothes  !  Ursie,  where  are  your 
senses  ?  " 

"  John  Hervey  !  "  I  exclaimed,  as  with  a  sudden  inspira- 
tion. 

She  sat  down,  and  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand.  I 
heard  her  murmur  to  herself,  "  He  knows  him ;  he  can't 
think  worse  of  him." 

"  John  Hervey  knew  Mr.  Weir  years  ago.  Miss  Milicent," 
I  said.  "  He  would  respect  and  help  him  for  the  sake  of 
those  old  times." 

Her  countenance  worked  with  a  conflict  of  feeling ;  but 
presently  she  said,  quite  calmly,  "  If  he  could  go  he  must  be 
paid." 

"  His  expenses  must  be  paid,"  I  said.  "  He  woidd  give 
his  time,  I  am  sure,  if  possible." 

"  Matilda  Temple  holds  the  purse-strings,"  observed  Miss 
Milicent. 

I  was  silent — that  subject  was  beyond  me. 

Miss  Milicent  sat  lost  in  thought ;  her  cogitations  seemed 
to  come  to  no  satisfactory  termination,  for,  after  a  silence  of 
at  least  five  minutes,  she  said  to  me  abruptly,  "  You  will  go 
up-stairs  and  see  my  mother,  Ursie.  She  knows  you  are  here. 
Not  a  word  about  plans  remember.  Under  any  circumstances 
she  can't  go." 

I  left  her.  My  suggestion  would,  I  knew,  work  better  in 
solitude  than  if  I  was  with  her ;  and  with  a  slow  step,  very 
diff'erent  from  that  with  which  in  former  days  I  had  been  ac- 
customed to  seek  Mrs.  Weir's  presence,  I  went  up-stairs  and 
knocked  at  the  door  of  her  sitting-room. 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  gentle  voice,  which  always  sounded 
more  sweet  to  me  than  any  other.  "  Oh!  Ursula,  it  is  you  ! 
How  are  you  ?  Will  you  sit  down  ?  " 

Mrs.  Weir  pointed  to  a  chair,  and  then  turned  away  her 
face,  and  I  saw  her  take  up  her  handkerchief  to  wipe  away 
the  tears  which  filled  her  swollen  eyes. 

I  longed  to  go  near  her,  and  show  that  I  was  sorry  for 
her,  but  I  could  not  make  the  first  advance.  I  could  only 
say,  "  Miss  Milicent  tells  me,  Ma'am,  that  you  have  had  a  bad 
night." 

"  Kather  disturbed,  Ursula.     I  never  sleep  well  now.     I 


280  URSULA. 

thought  I  should  have  done  well  to  take  a  sleeping-draught 
before  I  went  to  bed,  but  my  niece  did  not  like  it." 

"  You  used  to  take  it  occasionally,  Ma'am,  if  I  remem- 
ber," I  said. 

"  Yes,  occasionally  ;  it  is  a  very  bad  habit.  My  niece  says 
I  ought  to  cure  myself  of  it ;  and  she  never  takes  such  things 
herself,  though  she  is  very  nervous,  and  lies  awake  half  the 
night." 

A  pause  followed.  Not  knowing  what  to  say  next,  I  re- 
marked, without  thinking  what  I  was  saying,  that  I  was 
afraid  Miss  Milicent  had  a  cold  dark  walk,  the  last  evening. 
She  was  out  so  late, 

"  Milicent  is  always  out  late,"  replied  Mrs.  Weir.  "  She 
is  away  all  the  day.  I  don't  see  her,  I  only  see  my  niece, 
and  no  one  ever  comes  to  call,  except  Mr.  Richardson,  and  he 
has  not  been  to  see  me  so  often  as  formerly." 

"  Perhaps  your  friends  don't  know  you  would  like  to  see 
them.  Ma'am,"  I  replied. 

"  Perhaps  so,  Ursula  ;  but  people  change.  I  did  not  think 
they  would.  I  thought  if  they  loved  me  once  they  would 
love  me  always.  But  we  are  not  to  put  our  trust  in  human 
friends  ;  my  niece  tells  me  that." 

"  But  indeed,  dear  Ma'am,"  I  exclaimed,  rather  hastily, 
"  I  don't  know  where  we  are  told  to  distrust  them." 

"  I  do  not  remember  any  verse,  Ursula,"  replied  Mrs. 
Weir,  quietly;  "  but  God  teaches  us  by  experience ;  only  it 
takes  a  long  time  to  learn  the  truth." 

"  I  hope  it  will  take  a  very  long  time  before  you  learn  to 
distrust  me,  dear  Ma'am,"  I  said  ;  "  if  I  might  be  so  bold  as 
to  consider  myself  your  friend." 

"  Did  I  say  distrust,  Ursula  ?  I  did  not  mean  it ;  but 
young  people  go  away  and  forget,  and  we  ought  not  to  ex- 
pect that  it  should  be  otherwise." 

I  could  not  help  understanding  this,  and  yet  I  did  not 
know  how  to  take  it  up. 

Mrs.  Weir  continued,  still  in  the  same  mournful  tone 
which  was  her  nearest  approach  to  anger,  "  My  niece  has 
sent  some  messages  to  Mrs.  Grant,  Ursula,  about  the  butter, 
but  I  dare  say  you  were  too  busy  to  attend  to  the  orders." 

"  What  orders  ?  "  I  could  not  remember  any,  and  I  said 


URSULA.  281 

"  It  does  not  signify,  it  will  do  no  good  to  vex  ourselves 
about  such  trifles,"  added  Mrs.  Weir.  "  I  told  my  niece  that 
I  did  not  care  about  it.  I  was  only  sorry,  Ursula,  because 
I  thought  you  would  have  managed  it  for  me,  but  I  am  sure 
you  could  not  help  it ;  I  was  only  hurt  for  the  moment ;  " 
and  she  held  out  her  hand  to  me  kindly. 

Just  for  an  instant  I  thought  I  would  try  and  explain, 
but  any  one  who  had  looked  at  Mrs.  Weir  would  have  seen 
that  explanation  upon  any  subject  then  must  be  useless. 
Even  this  little  fault-finding  had  put  her  into  a  state  of  ner- 
vousness, which  was  quite  painful.  I  could  only  take  her 
hand,  as  she  offered  it  me,  and  say  heartily,  "  Dear  Ma'am, 
you  will  never  understand  how  things  are  till  I  can  come 
back  and  stay  in  the  house  a  little,  and  look  after  you." 

Her  sad  face  lighted  up  with  such  a  bright  smile  for  a 
second,  but  it  clouded  again,  and  she  said,  gravely,  "  Oh, 
Ursula,  if  you  ever  came  to  live  with  me  I  should  want  you 
to  speak  quite  plainly,  and  tell  me  everything,  and  you  would 
not  like  that.  You  know  you  did  not  like  to  tell  about  the 
little  broken  chessman." 

I  felt  stung  to  the  quick ;  that  she  should  remember  that 
trifle,  and  take  it  up  so  wrongly  too !  It  must  have  been 
dinned  into  her  ears  every  day,  or  she  would  surely  have  for- 
gotten  it  long  ago  ! 

Mrs.  Weir  saw  that  I  was  vexed,  and  with  her  usual  im- 
pulse of  kindheartedness,  tried  to  do  away  with  the  effect  of 
her  words,  by  reminding  me  how  well  I  used  to  nurse  her, 
and  what  a  comfort  I  had  once  been  to  her.  But  she  could 
not  deceive  me.  I  felt  chilled,  and  I  confess  I  was  unjust 
to  her.  I  forgot  her  weak  health,  and  the  ease  with  which  a 
person  in  her  state  may  be  worked  upon,  and  attributed  the 
misunderstanding  to  fickleness.  "  I  am  afraid,  Ma'am,"  I 
answered  proudly,  "  that  you  can  have  but  little  pleasure  in 
the  company  of  a  person  whom  you  suspect  of  not  speaking 
the  truth,  so  I  had  better  go."  I  stood  up,  intending  to  wish 
her  good  morning,  but  she  looked  at  me  with  an  earnest,  even 
an  imploring  gaze,  as  she  said,  whilst  every  limb  seemed  to 
tremble  with  agitation,  "  Then,  Ursula,  you  do  not  care  for 
me  any  more  than  my  other  friends  do." 

I  caught  hold  of  her  hand  and  kissed  it.    "  Dear  Ma'am," 


282  URSULA. 

I  exclaimed,  "  Indeed  I  don't  understand  you.  Nobody 
cares  for  you  more  than  I  do,  if  you  would  only  believe  it, 
and  not  listen  to  the  unkind  things  which  are  said  against 
me.     Who  could  help  loving  you  ?  "  I  added. 

"  Ah,  Ursula,"  she  replied,  and  her  lips  quivered,  "  peo- 
ple have  left  off  loving  me  since  I  came  to  Compton.  My 
niece  knows  the  world,  and  she  showed  me  that  my  friends 
cared  for  me  when  I  lived  at  Dene  ;  but  they  have  left  me 
now.  I  ought  not  to  mind  it.  I  have  my  niece,  and  she  is 
very  good  to  me.  She  says  I  shall  never  go  away  from  her ; 
but,  Ursula,  do  you  know,"  her  voice  sank,  as  she  looked 
timidly  round  the  room,  "  we  have  had  news — news  of  my 
husband — Mr.  Weir.  Do  you  not  think  I  ought  to  go  to 
him?     Do  not  answer  loudly ;  they  hear  sometimes." 

"  There  is  no  one  to  hear  now,  Ma'am,"  I  said  quickly  ; 
"  but  I  think,  if  you  will  let  me  say  it,  that  you  had  better 
not  trouble  yourself  about  Mr.  Weir  just  now.  You  can 
wait  till  you  learn  more  about  him,  and  then  by  and  by  you 
can  go  if  it  should  seem  right." 

"  By  and  by,"  she  repeated  ;  "  yes,  soon,  that  would  be ; 
if  my  niece  would  allow  it.  But  I  ought  to  go,  Ursula,  I 
am  his  wife,  only  Mrs.  Temple  thinks  it  wrong.  I  shall  tell 
her  what  you  say." 

Poor  lady  !  all  her  old  loving  confidence  in  me  was  re- 
turning, and  as  I  perceived  it,  every  remaining  feeling  of 
annoyance  on  my  side  vanished.  I  sat  down  again,  I  felt  I 
might  comfort  and  soothe  her,  and  I  was  happy.  But  the 
door  opened,  and  Miss  Milicent  entered. 

"  Mother,  have  you  finished  talking  to  Ursie  Grant  ?  "  she 
began. 

"  Do  you  want  her,  Milicent  ?  I  shall  be  sorry  to  say 
good-bye.     She  is  so  kind  in  coming  to  see  me." 

"  There  is  no  time  to  spare.  Mother.  Matilda  Temple 
will  be  back  directly.     I  must  have  you,  Ursie." 

"  Matilda  is  coming  now,  I   think,"  said  Mrs.  Weir. 

No  one  else  had  heard  the  footstep,  but  Mrs.  Weir  was 
right. 

Miss  Milicent  beckoned  to  me.  "  Come,  Ursie,  come,  we 
are  better  out  of  the  way." 

"  If  you  please,  I  will  wait  and  see  Mrs.  Temple,"  I  re- 
plied, for  I  was  resolved  not  to  be  abashed  by  her. 


URSULA,  283 

There  was  a  pause  on  the  staircase ;  Mrs.  Weir's  old 
feeling  of  restraint  seemed  to  have  returned.  She  said  ner- 
vously, "  Good-bye,  Ursula;  you  will  come  again  some  day, 
when  you  have  time." 

Even  she  then  wished  me  to  go,  and  I  went.  I  passed 
Mrs.  Temple  in  the  lobby,  and  received  from  her  a  bend  of 
the  head,  so  slight  as  scarcely  to  -be  noticed.  A  feeling  came 
over  me  as  though  I  had  left  Mrs.  Weir  in  the  hands  of  a 
gaoler. 

"  I  have  settled,  Ursie,"  exclaimed  Miss  Milicent,  as  she 
led  the  way  to  the  study,  and  closed  the  door  behind  her. 
"  I  won't  be  indebted  to  any  one,  I  will  go  myself" 

I  could  not  tell  what  to  reply,  and  Miss  Milicent  added, 
hurriedly,  "  Don't  object;  I  can't  bear  objections." 

Few  people  can,  I  thought  to  myself;  but  the  scheme 
was  mad. 

"  I  shall  go,"  she  continued.  "  I  know  a  person  who 
will  go  with  me,  an  old  servant.  She  has  been  in  France ; 
she  travelled  with  us  eight  years  ago.  I  shall  talk  to  Lieu- 
tenant Macdonald  again ;  perhaps  he  may  be  more  sober.  I 
must  go,  Ursie.     I  must  have  my  own  way." 

Who  would  doubt  that  ?  Miss  Milicent  ought  to  know 
more  of  the  difficulties  than  I  did,  but  they  crowded  upon 
me.  It  seemed  an  expensive  plan,  taking  two  people  instead 
of  one.  I  doubted  if  Miss  Milicent  would  know  how  to 
help  her  father  when  she  was  with  him.  I  believed  that 
such  matters  of  business  required  a  man's  head  to  arrange 
them.  I  thought  that  to  leave  Mrs.  Weir  was  giving  up  a 
first  duty.  I  was  sure  that  trouble  would  follow  if  Mrs. 
Temple  was  allowed  to  go  her  own  way  so  entirely  without 
check.  But  Miss  Milicent  was  totally  undisciplined  ;  what- 
ever she  took  into  her  head  must  always  be  carried  through ; 
and  at  the  bottom  of  the  decision  there  lay — I  don't  believe 
she  saw  it,  but  I  am  not  the  less  sure  that  it  was  there — the 
desire  to  escape  from  a  wearisome  life,  the  struggle  of  con- 
science, and  contact  with  Mrs.  Temple.  Any  duty  rather 
than  that  which  was  at  hand. 

I  believe  it  is  so  with  us  all  at  times. 

I  continued  to  put  in  my  word  of  advice,  and  that  rather 
boldly.     "Miss    Milicent,"  I  said,  "you  do  not  know  under 


284  URSULA. 

what  circumstances,  or  in  what  company,  you  may  find  Mr. 
Weir ;  it  may  be  very  unfitting  for  a  lady  to  go  where  he  is." 

She  would  not  hear  me.  It  was  all  nonsense,  she  said. 
Where  there  was  a  will  there  was  a  way.  She  didn't  know 
what  fear  was,  and  as  for  the  opinion  of  the  world,  she  cared 
not  a  whit  for  it.  That  very  afternoon  she  should  write  to 
the  servant,  and  inquire  wether  she  could  go. 

I  had  nothing  to  ofi"er  in  reply.  I  could  but  say  that  I 
hoped  she  would  consider  the  matter  well  before  she  decided 
upon  it.  She  disliked  the  appearance  of  opposition,  and  when 
I  proposed  to  leave  her,  she  was  glad  that  I  should  go. 

Something  seemed  to  strike  her  just  at  last  about  her 
mother,  for  as  I  was  going  away  she  said,  holding  my  hand, 
and  speaking  very  earnestly,  "  You  will  be  near,  Ursie,  if  my 
mother  wants  anything;  and  you  won't  mind  Matilda  Tem- 
ple's humours." 

It  was  a  satisfactory  thought  to  Miss  Milicent,  but  it  was 
anything  but  satisfactory  to  me. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

Instead  of  going  home  over  the  down,  I  went  round  by 
Hatton,  and  up  the  stony  lane.  It  was  a  long  walk,  but  I 
had  a  little  shopping  to  do  in  Hatton.  In  the  grocer's  shop, 
I  met  Mr.  Hervey.  I  told  him  where  I  came  from,  and  that 
I  was  on  my  way  back  to  Sandcombe ;  and  he  offered  to  walk 
with  me.  He  had  been  over  to  Hatton  on  business  of  his 
own,  but  he  was  going  back  to  Longside,  to  be  present  at  the 
giving  away  of  a  loaf  of  bread  to  all  the  families  who  lived 
in  Farmer  Kemp's  cottages,  and  to  all  his  labourers  and  boys. 
It  was  an  old  Christmast-eve  custom ;  and  there  was  to  be  a 
dinner  for  the  labourers  the  next  day,  so  there  was  enough  to 
do  at  Longside ;  and  Mary,  I  heard,  was  very  busy,  and 
very  provoked  with  me  for  not  having  gone  to  her  the  even- 
ing before. 

All  this  was  told  me  as  we  walked  slowly  up  Hatton  lane ; 
but  John  Hervey  had  something  else  in  his  mind,  and  I  had 
something  else  in  mine  j  and  yet  we  neither  of  us  liked  to 


UR'SULA.  285 

speak  of  it.  He  could  not  tell  me  of  his  private  news  about 
Mr.  Weir,  and  I  could  not  tell  him  of  Miss  Milicent's  plans, 
though  I  knew  he  would  be  likely  soon  to  hear  of  them. 
We  were  much  more  silent  than  usual,  and  once  or  twice  I 
cut  him  rather  short  in  something  he  was  saying, — not 
meaning  it,  but  merely  because  I  was  thinking  of  other 
matters.  It  never  struck  me  that  he  might  notice  my  man- 
ner, till  we  parted ;  then  he  said  in  a  marked  tone,  "  We 
used  to  be  great  friends,  Ursie,  and  have  a  good  deal  to  say 
to  each  other, — but  somehow  times  seem  changed." 

My  colour  came,  not  because  I  was  angry,  but  ashamed. 
.  I  really  had  never  regularly  made  up  with  him   since  the 
evening  we  had  that  little  fuss  about  Mrs.  Weir  and  my 
interference. 

"  I  didn't  think  you  had  a  memory  for  old  grievances, 
Mr.  Hervey,"  I  said,  laughing  a  little  awkwardly;  "I  am 
sure  if  there  is  a  change  it  is  not  in  me." 

"  There  are  no  grievances,  Ursie,"  he  replied,  more 
gravely  than  I  expected ;  "  only  if  I  am  a  friend  once,  I  am 
a  friend  always." 

"  And  so  am  I,  I  hope,"  was  my  reply ;  "  we  are  making 
a  great  deal  out  of  nothing,  Mr.  Hervey." 

"  Yes,  it  is  nothing,"  lae  said ;  "  nothing  to  you,  Ursie. 
There  is  no  reason  why  it  should  be  anything  else.  Good-bye, 
I  didn't  mean  to  say  anything  disagreeable." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  I  shook  it  very  warmly,  for  I 
liked  him  heartily.  But  he  was  cold-mannered  still.  I  told 
him  to  give  my  love  to  Mary,  and  to  bring  her  over  to  see 
me  as  soon  as  he  could.  But  he  made  no  promises,  and  it 
rather  provoked  me  to  see  him  so  odd  and  moody. 

He  could  scarcely  have  left  me  more  than  two  or  three 
minutes,  when  I  heard  a  voice  calling  behind  me,  "  Ursie, 
stop  !  Ursie,  why  don't  you  stop  ?  "  William  was  coming 
after  me. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  said,  turning  round  slowly. 

Instead  of  answering  me,  he  asked  quickly,  "  Who  was 
that  with  you  ?  " 

"  John  Hervey,"  I  replied ;  "  look,  he  is  going  along  the 
down  now;"  and  without  another  word,  William  was  off 
like  a  shot.     I  thought  it  strange,  and  waited  to  watch  what 


286  URSULA. 

would  pass  between  them.  William  overtook  Mr.  Hervey 
in  a  few  seconds ;  then  I  saw  them  talking  together  in  a  great 
hurry,  and  to  my  surprise,  John  Hervey  changed  his  path, 
and  was  away  towards  Compton  in  less  time  than  I  could 
have  thought  possible. 

William  rejoined  me.  "  He's  gone  for  the  doctor/'  he 
said ;  "  it  was  better  than  my  going.  Ursie,  she  is  desperately 
ill!" 

"  She  ! — who  ?  "  I  exclaimed ;  whilst  all  the  blood  in  my 
veins  seemed  chilled,  and  my  heart  for  a  second  stopp  ed 
beating. 

"  Leah  ! — Haven't  you  heard  ?     It  is  worse  every  hour." 

"  It ! — the  fever  ! — I  didn't  know  she  had  any  !  " 

"  You  have  not  been  near  her,"  said  William,  bitterly. 
"  It  was  coming  on  when  you  went  off  this  afternoon." 

I  said  not  a  word  for  myself  If  he  had  told  me  I  had 
killed  her  I  should  have  acquiesced. 

"  Jessie  has  been  with  her,"  continued  William ;  "  we 
should  have  sent  for  you,  but  we  expected  you  in  every 
instant." 

"  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  you  had  sent !  "  I  exclaimed. 
"  I  could  have  been  back  nearly  an  hour  ago.  But — I  don't 
understand — it  was  a  cold,  nothing  else." 

"  Nothing  else  that  you  knew,"  said  William ;  "  but  I 
thought  it  wasn't  all  right  this  afternoon  myself;  and  if  you 
had  been  there,  I  should  have  made  you  go  to  her.  Jessie 
is  such  a  child,  she  is  not  fit  for  anything.  The  fever  has  the 
upper  hand  now,  she  is  wandering." 

"  Leah  is  always  feverish  when  she  has  a  cold,"  I  said. 
"  She  may  only  be  a  little  more  so  than  usual." 

"  You  can  judge  for  yourself,"  was  William's  answer,  and 
he  did  not  say  another  word  as  we  hurried  across  the  farm- 
yard and  into  the  house. 

I  rushed  up  to  Leah's  room,  drew  aside  the  curtain,  and 
looked  at  her.     William  was  right ;  she  was  desperately  ill. 

I  need  not  say  what  that  evening  was  like.  How  in  a  few 
hours  the  whole  aspect  of  a  house  may  be  changed  by  the 
presence  of  serious  illness  almost  all  know  by  sad  experience 
It  was  as  though  every  person's  business  had  been  suddenly 
put  an  end  to,  as  if  indeed  it  was  unfeeling  for  any  one  to 


URSULA,  287 

attend  to  anything.  "William  sat  brooding  over  the  fire, 
Jessie  ran  up  and  down-stairs  on  useless  errands,  Martha 
gossiped  with  the  men  about  "  mistress's  illness,"  and 
Esther  Smithson,  whom  I  had  kept  to  sleep  at  Sandcombe, 
thinking  she  might  be  wanted,  was  ordered  to  do  all  which 
no  one  else  had  time  for. 

And  I — I  don't  know  what  I  felt, — I  believe  I  was  thank- 
ful to  be  busy.  There  was  a  heavy  load  at  my  heart  which 
would  otherwise  have  been  unendurable. 

No  neglect  had  I  been  guilty  of  intentionally.  No  sus- 
picion of  real  illness,  much  less  of  danger,  had  for  an  instant 
crossed  my  mind  when  I  left  Leah  that  morning ;  but  I  had 
given  way  to  a  proud  temper  ;  she  had  done  me  wrong,  and  I 
had  waited  for  her  to  apologise,  instead  of  taking  the  first 
step  towards  reconciliation  myself.  I  had  allowed  the  "  sun 
to  go  down  upon  my  wrath,"  and  to  rise  upon  it  again,  and 
the  ill  feeling  had  kept  me  from  her.  I  might  not  indeed 
have  been  of  use  to  her.  Her  husband  was  the  person  re- 
sponsible, if  any  one  was  to  blame,  for  not  having  sooner 
perceived  the  serious  nature  of  the  illness ;  but  I  could  not 
be  innocent  in  my  own  eyes,  nor,  as  I  could  perceive,  in  those 
of  William  and  Jessie. 

John  Hervey  came  back  with  the  doctor  from  Compton, 
and  when  he  heard  that  it  was  a  serious  matter,  he  proposed 
to  ride  over  himself  to  Hove  for  further  advice.  William 
hesitated,  but  I  urged  it ;  I  was  resolved  there  should  be  no- 
thing more  to  reproach  myself  with.  John  went,  and  was 
back  again  with  a  second  doctor  before  eleven  o'clock.  Then 
he  offered  to  stay  all  night — and  I  should  have  been  thank- 
ful to  keep  him,  he  had  such  a  quick  thought  and  ready  hand 
in  times  of  difficulty — but  William  objected,  for  he  liked  no- 
thing that  put  him  out  of  his  ordinary  way ;  and  hiding  his 
face  from  danger,  tried  to  forget  that  it  existed. 

I  sat  up  with  Leah,  alone.  She  did  not  know  me ;  in  her 
delirium  she  complained  of  me,  and  thought  I  was  treating 
her  unkindly.  Once  she  called  out  for  me,  and  said  I  would 
not  come  near  her.  The  fever  increased;  I  expected  no- 
thing better ;  the  Hove  doctor  had  talked  of  nine  days  before 
the  crisis;  he  was  not  sure,  but  he  thought  it  likely,  and  I 
summoned   up   my   courage   to   bear   the   suspense.     Such 


288  URSULA. 

anxieties  are  scarcely  dependent  upon  affection.  I  did  not 
love  Leah,  but  I  could  have  willingly  taken  her  place,  and 
been  in  her  danger  to  save  her. 

Morning  dawned,  that  freezing  dreary  dawn  which  be- 
longs to  the  depth  of  winter,  and  Jessie  stole  into  the  room 
to  beg  that  I  would  go  to  rest.  But  I  turned  from  the 
thought  of  rest ;  and  when  she  took  my  place  at  the  bedside, 
I  went  down-stairs  to  give  the  men  their  Christmas  break- 
fast of  ale  and  toast,  the  only  relic  of  the  old  customs  in  my 
mother's  time. 

They  were  respectful  and  sympathising  in  their  manner,  and 
I  felt  myself  among  friends  and  was  cheered  ;  but  when  I  left 
them,  I  heard  their  jokes  go  on  as  though  nothing  was  amiss. 
It  was  Christmas-day  to  them.  It  was  no  day  to  me  until,  as 
I  stood  for  a  minute  at  the  open  window  of  my  own  room,  I 
heard  the  peal  of  the  merry  bells  of  Hatton  church.  Then 
a  better  feeling  came  over  me,  and  I  knelt  down  and  prayed 
God  to  forgive  me  in  whatsoever  I  had  done  amiss  in  my 
intercourse  with  Leah,  and  to  spare  her,  and  raise  her  up 
again  to  live  from  thenceforth  to  His  glory. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

It  was  not  the  will  of  God  that  my  prayer  should  be 
granted.  Nine  days  afterwards,  and  Leah  was  dead.  In 
that  short  period  I  had  lived  as  it  seemed  through  years ; 
for  I  had  gazed  upon  death,  and  faced  the  terrors  of 
Eternity. 

I  cannot  write  about  it  minutely.  At  the  time  I  was  in 
a  troubled  dream.  Looking  back,  I  can  feel  nothing  but 
wonder  and  thankfulness  at  the  Mercy  which  sustained  me 
through  the  trial.  For  all  was  left  to  me  from  the  begin- 
ning. William  was  at  first  stunned.  His  wife  had  been  in 
many  ways  unsuited  to  him,  she  had  given  him  many  hours 
of  vexation,  but  he  was  used  to  her,  and  understood  her  ;  he 
had  taught  himself  to  depend  upon  her  ;  and  the  thought  of 
being  left  alone  filled  him  with  unspeakable  dreariness.  When 
she  was  gone,  he  went  about  his  daily  business,  but  I  saw 


URSULA,  289 

him  often  turn  from  the  empty  parlour,  and  sit  down  within 
the  wide  hearth  in  the  kitchen,  and  cry  like  a  child. 

People  told  us  we  had  one  great  comfort,  that  after  the 
first  everything  had  been  done  which  could  be  ,•  and  it  was 
true.  No  money  had  been  spared  to  give  her  doctors'  ad- 
vice, a  nurse  had  been  hired  thac  she  might  never  want  at- 
tention, Mr.  Richardson  had  called  every  day,  and  prayed 
for  her  when  he  could  not  pray  with  her,  and  at  the  end, 
when  consciousness  came  back  to  her,  there  was  the  comfort 
of  knowing  that  he  had  done  all  he  could  to  make  her  pre- 
pare for  her  great  change.  But  I  could  never  forget  the 
beginning  of  her  illness,  and  if  she  had  not  before  the  last, 
said,  "  Good-bye,  Ursie,"  and  looked  at  me  kindly,  I  think  I 
should  have  been  broken-hearted. 

Yet  I  did  not  dwell  so  much  upon  her,  I  felt  I  must 
trust  her  with  all  her  faults,  all  her  short  comings,  to  Him 
who  alone  knew  her  heart,  its  trials  and  struggles,  but  rather 
I  turned  with  a  bitter  self-distrust  to  my  own  position. 

Who  was  I  that  I  should  venture  to  rule  others,  when 
conscience  told  me  I  had  so  little  rule  over  myself  ?  When 
for  the  first  time  I  sat  at  the  head  of  William's  table,  as  the 
acknowledged  mistress  of  his  household,  it  was  with  a  feel- 
ing very  difierent  from  that  which  had  led  me  to  criticise 
Leah's  arrangements  in  other  days.  I  had  continually 
failed  in  humility,  in  gentleness,  and  charity.  I  had  obey- 
ed,— but  from  necessity,  not  from  a  willing  heart,  and  the 
first  qualification  necessary  for  those  who  would  govern  well 
is  the  power  of  obeying  well.  It  seemed  as  though  it  were 
meant  to  punish  and  humble  me,  that  all  my  duties  presented 
themselves  in  confusion, — one  interfering  with  another,  my 
own  will  and  William's  perpetually  coming  in  contact,  and 
claims  from  without,  and  anxieties  from  within,  pressing 
upon  me,  so  that  there  were  moments  when  I  felt  inclined 
to  sit  down  with  my  hands  folded,  and  let  others  take  their 
way,  merely  because  I  had  not  the  spirit  to  try  and  make 
them  go  mine. 

It  was  about  a  fortnight  after  Leah's  funeral — that  pain- 
ful time  succeeding  a  great  shock,  when  we  try  to  look  upon 
the  present  and  the  past  as  one,  and  find  that  God  has 
placed  a  great  gulf  between  them,  which  in  this  world  can 
Vor.  L— IB 


290  UESULA. 

never  be  bridged  over — I  thouglit  I  would  steal  a  few  mo- 
ments of  quietness  to  think  of  all  I  wished  to  do,  and  to  alter 
the  arrangements  whicli  in  Leah's  time  I  had  found  fault 
with,  and  said  that  if  I  were  at  the  head  of  aifairs  they 
should  be  different.  These  were  many ;  some,  of  course, 
more  important  than  others,  but  all  requiring  consideration 
and  contrivance. 

The  men  and  boys  who  slept  in  the  house  were  left  en- 
tirely to  themselves.  They  were  placed  together  in  an  old 
part  of  the  house,  reached  by  a  staircase,  which  led  to  the 
women-servants'  rooms  as  well.  So  there  was  no  one  to  look 
after  them. 

I  had  heard  through  Martha  that  they  were  often  very 
profane  in  their  language,  and  that  if  a  boy,  fresh  from 
school,  with  good  habits,  knelt  down  to  say  his  prayers,  they 
would  mock  him  till  he  gave  up  the  practice.  I  had  spoken 
about  this  to  Leah  ;  I  had  told  her  that  at  least  she  ought  to 
take  Martha  away  from  the  risk  of  such  company.  But  I 
was  always  put  off  with  a  laugh  at  my  particularity,  as  it 
was  called.  What  had  done  very  well  for  the  Sandcombe 
servants  for  thirty  years,  I  was  told,  would  surely  continue 
to  do  for  them  for  thirty  years  to  come.  This  was  a  thing 
to  be  remedied  at  once,  and  yet  I  was  met  instantly  by  a 
difficulty  as  to  fitting  up  what  was  now  a  lumber  room,  for 
Martha,  and  so  bringing  upon  William  expenses  which  he 
would  consider  unnecessary.  Sunday  was  another  burden 
upon  my  miud.  Martha  never  went  to  church  in  the  morn- 
ing, so  that  she  had  no  opportunity  of  receiving  the  Com- 
munion, even  if  she  had  wished  it.  I  had  several  times  of- 
fered to  remain  at  home  myself,  but  she  would  not  hear  of 
it.  I  could  do  as  I  liked  now,  but  if  I  was  not  at  church,  I 
was  sure  William  would  never  trouble  himself  to  think  about 
the  men  or  see  if  they  were  there.  In  fact  he  was  very  ir- 
regular in  his  own  attendance,  remaining  at  home  on  the 
least  excuse,  and  I  had  strong  suspicions  that  the  men  often 
took  advantage  of  this,  and  went  to  public  houses,  and  got 
into  bad  company,  on  a  Sunday.  It  was  impossible  for  me 
to  be  at  home  and  at  church  too,  and  wherever  I  was^  I 
seemed  compelled  to  leave  something  neglected.  As  for 
Sunday  reading,  the  men,  if  they  read  at  all,  followed  Wil- 


UK  SUL  A  .  291 

Ham's  example,  and  spent  tlieir  time  in  spelling  over  a  news- 
paper. I  thought  I  might  do  something  to  help  in  that  way 
by  bringing  them  together,  and  asking  Mr.  Richardson  to 
lend  me  some  interesting  book  to  read  to  them,  but  I  was 
very  ignorant,  and  shy  too,  and  fancied  I  should  never  have 
courage  to  begin,  even  if  William  were  to  allow  it,  which 
was  doubtful. 

But  the  thing  I  had  most  set  my  heart  upon  was  having 
family  prayers.  They  were  managed  at  Longside,  and  I 
earnestly  desired  to  have  it  so  with  us.  In  the  morning, 
indeed,  when  the  men  were  all  out  in  the  fields,  only  Farmer 
Kemp's  own  family  and  the  in-door  servants  could  attend ; 
but,  in  the  evening,  all  who  slept  in  the  house  met  in  the 
room  where  the  maids  sat,  and  where  most  of  the  needlework 
was  done ;  and  then  Farmer  Kemp  regularly  read  a  chapter 
in  the  Bible,  and  had  prayers..  I  remember  hearing  him 
describe  the  difficulty  he  had  iif  beginning  the  practice,  and 
how  the  men  only  made  a  mock  of  it ;  but  he  persevered, 
and  now  there  could  not  be  a  more  well-behaved  congrega- 
tion in  a  church,  than  that  which  met  at  Longside  every 
evening. 

But  Farmer  Kemp  was  master  there,  and  had  all  his 
family  on  his  side.  William  was  master  at  Sandcombe,  and 
would  be  entirely  set  against  the  notion.  The  fulfilment  of 
my  wish  seemed  a  great  way  off,  and  I  had  but  few  things 
externally  to  help  me  in  the  meantime.  Sandcombe  was  so 
far  from  Mr.  Richardson,  and  from  Compton  Church,  that  I 
could  gain  but  little  comfort  from  them.  I  saw  Mr.  Richard- 
son every  now  and  then,  but  I  could  not  go  to  him  to  talk 
over  my  every-day  difficulties ;  and  as  for  church,  I  could 
very  seldom  go,  except  on  Sundays.  The  services  were  too 
early  and  too  late,  and  the  utmost  I  could  hope  was  to  manage 
the  walk  occasionally,  on  the  saints'  days,  when  there  were 
prayers  and  a  short  sermon  at  eleven,  and  when  I  might  have 
/flffusincss  to  take  me  to  Compton. 

«P  Perhaps  the  improvement  which  I  had  the  greatest  chance 
«  carrying  out,  was  as  to  the  outward  behaviour  of  the  men 
who  worked  on  the  farm.  Both  William  and  Leah  had  a  great 
notion  of  being  respectable,  and  anything  which  created  a 
scandal,  or  made  people  talk  about  them,  was  dreaded.    And 


292  U  K  S  U  L  A  . 

yet  they  would  often  keep  men  about  them  whose  characters 
were  known  to  be  bad,  and  who  did  untold  mischief  to  others. 
This  arose,  in  a  great  measure,  from  Leah's  indolence,  and 
William's  dislike  to  face  anything  disagreeable.  There  were 
one  or  two  men  about  whom  I  had  heard  things  which  made 
me  urge  William  to  rid  himself  of  them  ;  but  he  never  would 
inquire  into  the  stories,  and  Leah  always  said  that  the  men 
were  not  her  concern,  and  so  they  worked  on,  and  every  day 
I  was  sure  that  they  were  doing  harm,  especially  to  the  wo- 
men and  girls,  who  were  often  employed  in  the  fields,  and 
heard  their  bad  language,  and  saw  their  evil  ways.  Once, 
when  there  was  a  press  of  work,  and  a  lack  of  hands,  it  was 
proposed  to  send  Esther  into  the  fields,  but  I  managed  to 
prevent  that  myself.  I  felt  that  I  was  in  a  certain  way 
answerable  for  her  to  Mrs.  Richardson,  and  I  could  not  bear 
to  think  of  her  being  corrupted  by  such  company. 

It  struck  me  that  if  I  could  only  inquire,  and  find  two  steady 
labourers  to  take  the  place  of  those  whom  I  wished  to  turn 
ofi",  I  might,  without  much  difficulty,  bring  William  to  agree 
to  it,  and  this  would  be  the  beginning  of  what  I  hoped  might 
at  length  prove  a  great  amendment. 

I  sat  alone,  as  I  before  said,  planning  all  these  changes, 
when  I  was  interrupted  by  William.  He  was  accustomed  now 
to  wander  into  the  house  many  times  in  the  course  of  the 
day.  No  particular  business  brought  him,  but  he  was  rest- 
less,— always  thinking  to  ease  the  burden  at  his  heart  by 
change.  Just  at  first,  I  thought  that  he  had  come  at  the 
right  moment,  and  I  was  upon  the  point  of  opening  out  my 
wishes  to  him,  but  I  remembered  how  he  disliked  changes, 
and  I  knew,  too,  that  old  governments  are  very  jealous  of  new 
ones,  and  so  I  thought  I  would  delay,  or,  at  least,  sound  my 
way  before  I  made  any  propositions.  And  it  was  fortunate 
that  I  did,  for  I  should  surely  have  met  with  opposition.  He 
was  bent  upon  an  arrangement  of  his  own.  Poor  fellow  !  he 
wanted  the  appearance  of  a  settled  state  of  things,  even  if  he 
could  not  have  the  reality,  and  he  was  come  to  make  a  pror 
posal  to  me,  he  said. 

I  did  not  like  the  sound  of  the  word,  but  I  answered  : 
"  Anything,  William,  by  which  I  can  be  a  comfort  to  you, 
you  know  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  do." 


URSULA.  293 

"  It  would  be  comfort  for  yourself  too,  Ursie,"  he  said, 
"  you  know  you  have  your  own  living  to  get  in  the  world,  at 
least  there  is  little  enough  for  you  without,  and  you  may 
just  as  well  make  your  money  with  me  as  with  anyone  else. 
I  would  give  you  a  fixed  sum  by  the  year,  and  you  might  be 
able  to  put  something  away  out  of  it." 

So  strangely  blind  we  are  !  It  will  scarcely  be  believed 
that  up  to  this  moment,  I  had  never  put  before  me  the  fact, 
that  Leah's  death  might  be  the  means  of  separating  me  from 
Roger  for  ever. 

My  heart  seemed  to  rise  i\j)  in  my  throat  and  choke  my 
voice. 

William  thought  I  was  touched  by  the  feeling  of  the 
great  change  which  had  come  over  us.  He  said  to  me  kindly, 
"  It  would  be  the  best  thing  for  us  both,  Ursie.  We  understand 
each  other,  and  shall  get  on  very  well  together.  Things 
can't  be  as  they  were,  but  we  must  make  the  best  of  them." 
"  And  Roger  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Oh  !  Roger  will"  marry,"  was  his  carelc-^s  answer ;  "  he 
is  sure  to  marry  in  that  out  of  the  way  country." 

I  rose  up,  and  turned  away  my  face  from  him,  whilst  I 
held  up  my  work  to  the  window  under  the  pretence  that  I 
could  not  see  to  thi-ead  my  needle,  though  in  fact  I  only 
wanted  time  to  recover  myself.  I  spoke  to  him  after  a  few 
seconds,  I  think  quite  calmly.  "  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Wil- 
liam," I  said,  "to  wish  to  make  a  fixed  agreement  that  shall 
continue,  but  it  might  not  be  quite  wise.  Only  as  long  as  I 
stay  with  you  I  should  be  very  much  obliged  for  an  allowance, 
because  now  that  I  have  to  look  after  everything,  I  can't  give 
any  time  to  needlework." 

As  the  words  came  from  my  lips,  I  felt  how  cold  they 
were,  seemingly  ungracious  and  unthankful,  and  "NV^illiam 
longing,  as  I  could  see,  for  something  to  turn  to  and  be  fond 
of.  I  tried  to  make  them  better.  I  said  he  was  always  kind 
to  me,  that  I  was  sure  we  should  manage  very  well  if  we  had 
to  be  together.  I  turned  my  sentence  in  the  way  I  thought 
mo.«t  likely  to  please  him,  but  I  could  not  say  what  I  knew 
he  wished  to  hear.  "  William,  it  will  make  me  happy  to  live 
with  you." 

He  was  a  proud  man,  and  shy,  as  proud  men  often  are. 


294  URSULA. 

He  was  thrown  back  by  me,  and  he  could  not  make  a  second 
advance.  "  You  shall  do  as  you  like,  Ursie,"  he  said,  "  I 
don't  wish  to  put  constraint  upon  any  one.  I  thought  it 
would  be  wise  to  place  things  on  a  regular  footing,  but  if  you 
like  better  to  continue  as  you  are,  living  as  it  were  from  hand 
to  mouth,  why  you  must  please  yourself." 

No,  this  was  not  at  all  what  I  liked.  I  must  have  things 
put  on  a  regular  footing,  as  he  called  it,  if  I  was  to  remain 
with  him  ;  but  the  sacrifice  which  this  might  involve,  I  was 
not  prepared" for. 

"  William,"  I  said,  "  you  must  let  me  think  this  over  by 
myself.  We  are  all  in  a  bewilderment  now.  I  don't  think 
we  either  of  us  know  what  we  wish  or  want.  A  month  hence 
we  may  tell  better." 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  second,  tried  to  whistle  as  he  used 
to  do  when  half  angry  and  half  astonished,  broke  off  abrupt- 
ly in  the  middle,  and  went  away. 

As  I  ran  up-stairs  to  my  own  room,  I  heard  him  giving 
some  orders  in  a  loud,  strained  voice,  and  then  I  saw  him 
walk  off  with  lono;  strides  across  the  fields. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

I  HAD  greatly  pained  William,  and  at  the  very  time  when 
I  was  most  anxious  to  give  him  consolation.  But  how  could 
it  be  otherwise  ?  Was  it  possible,  was  it  in  any  way  to  be 
expected,  that  I  should  entirely  sacrifice  my  own  happiness 
for  the  sake  of  being  what,  after  all,  could  only  prove  a 
secondary  comfort  to  him  ? 

This  was  the  question  which  I  put  to  myself,  when  I  was 
once  more  alone,  in  my  own  chamber,  with  my  door  bolted, 
and  kneeling  before  God  that  I  might  be  the  better  able  to 
answer  it  in  all  sincerity. 

Time  was  passing  on  rapidly,  in  a  very  few  months  I 
might  expect,  if  not  to  see  Eoger  in  England,  at  Jeast  to  re- 
ceive my  summons  to  Canada.  Was  I  to  say  "  No  "  to  it  ? 
Could  I  leave  Koger  to  face  loneliness  in  a  distant  land  ? 
After  all  he  had  done  for  me,  would  it  not  be  selfish,  ungrate- 


URSULA.  295 

fill,  to  draw  back  and  allow  him  to  toil  on,  away  from  home, 
friends,  every  early  association  of  happiness,  to  full  ill  per- 
haps and  die,  and  none  to  comfort  him  '?    ■ 

I  wept  most  bitter  tears  as  I  conjured  up  the  spectre  of 
the  evils  which  might  be  lurking  in  the  dimness  of  futurity. 
But  there  was  another  side  to  the  case.  Roger  was  young, 
healthy,  and  full  of  hope ;  likely,  as  I  had  so  often  been 
told,  to  marry.  He  had  not  gone  to  Canada  for  me,  but  for 
himself.  If  he  sent  for  me,  it  would  be  because  I  had  no 
home  but  his.  The  tie  between  us  was  voluntary.  If  I 
were  called  upon  to  break  it  by  a  stronger  claim  he  would 
be  the  first  to  give  it  up. 

And  William  was  my  brother  also,  an  elder  brother,  suf- 
fering from  a  grief  which  Roger  had  never  known.  He  had 
a  household  dependent  upon  him,  and  no  one  to  manage  it ; 
duties  incumbent  upon  him,  which,  without  help,  he  would 
find  the  utmost  difficulty  in  fulfilling ;  and  he  had  been  kind 
to  me  when  I  most  needed  it,  he  had  taken  me  into  his  home 
when  I  had  no  other  home.  If  I  had  not  been  happy  there 
it  was  from  no  intentional  neglect  on  his  part.  He  might  be 
a  selfish  man,  but  he  was  never  deliberately  unkind.  Could 
I  put  aside  his  claim  as  slight  ?  It  was  the  revival,  in  an- 
other forru,  of  the  difliculty  which  had  so  greatly  troubled 
me  when  I  left  Dene ;  but  it  touched  me  more  closely,  for  it 
was  a  question  of  separation,  not  for  a  year,  but,  probably, 
for  ever. 

God  forgive  me  if  I  found  the  cross  He  had  laid  upon 
me  too  hard  to  bear;  if,  for  a  while,  I  again  pondered  the 
case,  striving  to  escape  from  the  decision,  of  my  conscience, 
and  convince  myself  that  Roger  was  to  be  my  first  consider- 
ation, and  that  it  was  less  a  cjucstion  of  my  own  wishes,  than 
of  the  comparative  happiness  of  my  brothers.  I  was  young 
then.  I  had  made  a  duty  to  myself  of  my  afi"ections,  and  I 
had  not  learnt  that,  unless  supported  by  the  claims  of  the 
work  set  before  us  by  God,  afiectiou  is  not  a  duty  but  a 
temptation. 

Before  I  had  in  any  way  reached  the  end  of  my  deliber- 
ation I  was  called  down-stairs  to  speak  with  Jolm  Hervey. 
I  had  not  seen  him  since  the  day  of  the  funeral,  but  I  had 
been  expecting  him  constantly.     Ho  seemed  now  so  much  a 


296  U  K  S  U  L  A  . 

part  of  ourselves  that  I  was  comforted  at  the  thought  of 
talking  to  him,  though  I  did  not  feel  that  I  could  ask  his 
advice. 

"  How  is  it  with  you  to-day,  Ursie  ?  "  he  said,  kindly,  as 
I  entered  the  room,  "  and  how  is  William  ?  " 

"  William  is  rather  better,"  I  replied.  "  He  is  in  the 
fields  looking  after  the  men.     Do  you  want  him  ?  " 

"  I  can't  do  him  any  good,  I  am  afraid.  Time  will  do 
that,  through  Grod's  help ;  but  I  have  a  letter  for  you, 
Ursie." 

"  A  letter  !  "  I  jumped  up  and  caught  it  from  his  hand. 
He  turned  away  as  I  opened  the  seal. 

"  Dearest  Trot, — I  send  you  some  hearty  good  wishes  for 
Christmas-day,  as  I  am  writing  to  John  Hervey  upon  a  little 
business.  You  shall  hear  more  soon.  Lots  of  thanks  for 
your  last  letter ;  nothing  keeps  a  man  up  like  hearing  from 
home.  We  have  had  rather  a  bad  time  here.  Mr.  Pierce 
has  been  very  ill,  and  is  so  now,  and  I  have  been  good  for 
nothing  myself.  Please  God,  though,  we  get  through  this 
winter,  we  shall  all  be  better  oif  next.  John  will  tell  you 
about  my  work.  I  have  not  time  for  more.  Grod  bless  you 
always  my  little  Trot.     From  your  very  loving  brother, 

"  Roger  Grant. 

"  Love  to  William,  and  Leah,  and  all  friends." 

I  let  the  note  fall  upon  my  lap,  and  burst  into  tears. 
John  Hervey  drew  near,  frightened.  "Is  it  ill  news?"  he 
said,  "  there  was  nothing  particular  in  mine,  except  about 
Mr.  Pierce." 

I  could  not  answer  him,  my  tears  came  so  fast.  Per- 
haps it  was  the  careless  mention  of  Leah's  name  which  had 
opened  the  flood-gates  <of  my  sorrow. 

John  took  hold  of  the  note,  and  I  put  it  into  his  hand  to 
read. 

"  He  has  been  ill,"  was  the  only  remark  he  made  upon  it, 
"  but  he  tells  me  he  is  better." 

"  He  is  not  better,"  I  exclaimed  passionately,  "  I  know 
what  he  means  by  putting  things  in  that  light  way.  I  must 
go  to  him,  and  nurse  him.     He  is  nothing  to  you,  Mr.  Her- 


URSULA.  297 

ve}^,  but  lie  is  my  all — my  all  !  "  I  repeated  ;  and  it  gave  me 
a  kind  of  fierce  pleasure  to  feel  that  there  was  nothing  in  the 
world  I  loved  like  him. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  my  letter,"  said  jMr. 
Hervey  ;  "  there  doesn't  seem  much  amiss  from  that,  as  far 
as  Roger  is  concerned,  though  I  should  be  afraid  about  Mr. 
Pierce  ;  and  you  see  he  says  that  if  anything  were  to  happen 
to  him,  it  might  be  a  great  draw-back." 

I  seized  the  paper  almost  without  thanks.  I  would  not 
let  JMr.  Hervey  read  it  to  me.  There  was  a  pleasure  in  let- 
ting my  eyes  rest  upon  the  letters  which  Roger  had  formed. 
I  waded  through  two  pages  of  farming  business,  understand- 
ing nothing  :  then  I  came  to  a  few  words  about  himself,  less 
than  what  he  had  said  to  me.  I  found  no  comfort  in  them. 
"  He  doesn't  complain,"  said  John. 
"  He  never  does,"  I  replied. 

"  Spring  will  be  coming  soon,"  he  continued,  "  the  worst 
will  be  over." 

"  And  winter  will  be  coming  again,"  I  answered,  "  but  he 
won't  spend  it  alone." 

"  You  are  bent  upon  going  to  him  then,"  said  John,  in 
rather  an  anxious  tone. 

"  I  am  not  only  bent  upon  it,  I  must  do  it." 
"  I  thought  you   might  have  stayed  a  little  while  with 
"William,"  continued  John.     "  He  will  be  much  put  to  with- 
out you." 

I  shrank  from  the  suggestion.  "  "William  will  get  a  house- 
keeper," I  said ;  "  and  Roger  wants  me,  and  I  promised  him 
to  go." 

"  And  you  wish  it  ?  "  said  John,  and  his  eye  rested  upon 
me,  with  an  earnest  gaze,  which  for  the  moment  puzzled  me. 
"  Yes,"  I  exclaimed,  "  of  course  I  wish  it.  "NVho  is  there 
that  can  be  to  me  what  Roger  is?  Wiio  took  care  of  me 
when  I  was  a  child,  and  gave  me  a  home,  and  watched  over 
me,  and  taught  me  ?  It  was  not  William,  Mr.  Hervey ;  you 
know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  If  he  had  been  all  I  had  to  de- 
pend upon,  I  might  have  been  at  this  time  working  for  my 
bread  in  service,  or  starving  upon  dress-making.  If  William 
wants  me  now,  it  is  for  his  own  good,  not  for  mine." 

"  There  is  certainly  more  gratitude  due  to  Roger,"  said 
Vol.  L— 13* 


298  URSULA. 

Mr.  Ilervey.  He  stressed  the  word  gratitude.  It  fretted 
me. 

"  Gratitude !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  No,  Mr.  Hervey,  it  is  not 
gratitude.  I  am  grateful  to  Farmer  Kemp,  to  Mr.  Richard- 
son, to  you,  to  any  one  who  has  done  me  a  kindness.  I  have 
something  more  than  gratitude  for  Roger." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  to  be  grateful  to  me,"  he  said, 
gravely. 

I  scarcely  heeded  his  words  :  "  You  can't  understand,"  I 
exclaimed  ;  "  no  one  can." 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  in  a  tone  of  singular  calmness,  "  I  can 
understand.  You  love  Roger  better  than  any  one  else  in  the 
world." 

"  I  love  him  better  than  my  own  life,"  I  said.  "  I  would 
be  thankful  to  sacrifice  every  hour  of  my  existence  to  him. 
I  wish  for  nothing  better  than  to  live  with  him  always. 
There  are  many  kinds  of  love  in  this  world,  Mr.  Hervey,  I 
don't  see  how  we  are  to  measure  them.  I  only  know  that  a 
sister's  love  for  a  brother  may  make  earth  a  Paradise, 
Dene  was  my  Paradise,"  I  added,  in  a  lower  tone. 

I  did  not  look  at  John  Hervey  as  I  spoke,  my  gaze  was 
riveted  upon  Roger's  letter. 

When,  however,  John  said,  touching  the  paper,  "  May  I 
have  it?  "  I  gave  it  to  him  reluctantly,  and  then  raising  my 
eyes,  I  was  for  the  first  time  struck  with  the  expression  of 
his  face.  It  was  strangely  pale,  and  there  was  a  look  in  it 
as  though  it  had  been  cast  into  a  mould  ;  a  kind  of  stony 
look.  I  did  not  like  to  ask  him  what  was  the  matter.  As 
he  folded  up  the  letter,  he  said  to  me  abruptly ;  "  I  came 
over  for  another  purpose.  Miss  Weir  is  going  to  France ;  I 
suppose  you  know  it." 

"  I  had  heard  of  it ;  I  did  not  know  it  was  a  fixed  plan." 

"  I  hear  that  she  has  engaged  a  servant,  and  has  had  di- 
rections from  Mr.  Macdonald." 

"  Miss  Milicent  is  mad  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Not  far  from  it.  She  leaves  her  mother  to  Mrs. 
Temple's  care." 

"  It  will  be  safe  care,"  I  said. 

"  It  may  be,"  he  replied. 

"  I  saw  he  was  too  proud  to  ask  me  again  to  interfere  in 


URSULA.  299 

anyway;  and  I  smiled  and  said:  "  You  want  me  to  look 
after  Mrs.  Weir,  Mr.  Hervey,  but  you  won't  say  so  ?  " 

"  My  wishes  are  not  likely  to  weigh  much  with  you,  Ursie, 
I  know ;  "  was  his  reply  :  "  but  if  Miss  Weir  goes,  Mrs. 
Weir  will  be  left  without  a  friend." 

"  Mrs.  Richardson,"  I  said. 

"  She  will  be  left  without  any  friend,"  he  rejieated. 
"  Mrs.  Temple  keeps  her  to  herself" 

"  But  she  likes  it." 

"  Perhaps  she  does,  I  can't  say ;  but  she  seldom  sees  any 
one.     Mrs.  Richardson  is  constantly  denied  admittance." 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  "  I  exclaimed.  "  It  can  do  no 
harm  to  any  one." 

"  You  women  ai-e  strange  beings,"  he  replied  ;  "  you  are 
all  fond  of  power." 

"  Because  you  men  give  us  so  little  of  it,"  I  said ;  "  what 
is  rare  is  always  precious." 

"  Oh,  Ursie  !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  he  caught  hold  of  my 
hand  ;  "  you  have  a  great  deal  more  power  than  you  know, 
— if  you  were  only  able — " 

"To  do  what?" 

"  To  use  it  rightly, — kindly,  I  mean." 

I  laughed  a  little,  and  said,  I  would  come  to  him  for  in- 
structions. It  seemed  odd  that  I  could  laugh.  I  was  not 
in  the  least  happy  in  the  depth  of  my  heart ;  but  laughter 
lies  on  the  surface.  We  had  some  more  conversation  after 
that  about  many  things.  John  told  me  little  about  Miss 
Milicent  that  I  did  not  know,  except  the  fact  that  her  journey 
was  actually  settled.  She  had  not  come  to  him  for  any 
help,  he  said  ;  she  had  gone  entirely  her  own  way.  I  suppose 
it  was  her  pride,  and  the  consciousness  that  her  friends  dis- 
approved, which  i^reventcd  her  from  consulting  any  one; 
nothing  else  that  I  can  imagine,  would  have  induced  her  to 
have  frequent  interviews  with  such  a  man  as  Lieutenant 
Macdouald.  He,  it  seems,  besides  telling  her  Avhere  Mr. 
Weir  was,  had  given  her  some  instructions  as  to  her  journey ; 
and  this  kind  of  business  had  taken  her  frequently  to  Dene, 
where  Mrs.  Price  made  a  great  deal  of  her.  So  strange  it 
was  that  Miss  Milicent  could  bear  it !  But  I  have  lived  to 
wonder  at  nothing  I  see  in  the  way  of  intimacies.     All  iu- 


300  URSULA. 

dulged  faults  bring  us  sooner  or  later  to  humiliation  of  some 
kind.  Miss  Milicent's  self-will  and  pride  made  ber  take 
rather  a  pleasure,  I  suspect,  in  going  contrary  to  the  opinion 
of  the  world.  She  thought  she  showed  her  contempt  for  it  in 
this  way ;  but  we  do  not  take  trouble  to  oppose  what  we 
despise.  I  don't  mean  by  this  that  Miss  Milicent  was  inti- 
mate with  Mrs.  Price,  but  only  that  she  bore  to  meet  her 
upon  a  footing  of  equality.  I  inquired  anxiously  about  Mr. 
Macdonald,  and  was  thankful  to  find  that  he  was  to  leave  Dene 
in  a  few  days.  Our  late  trouble  had  put  thoughts  of  Jessie 
out  of  my  mind,  but  they  were  returning  again,  with  the 
more  force,  because  I  felt  myself  to  be  in  a  measure,  holding 
Leah's  place.  Jessie  had  written  a  refusal,  so  she  assured 
me ;  I  did  not  doubt  her  word,  and  yet  I  had  a  lingering 
misgiving.  The  one  thing  which  Jessie  could  never  be  made 
to  understand  was,  that  she  had  no  right  to  indulge  her 
vanity,  by  having  a  double  mind  in  these  matters ;  she  might 
refuse  Mr.  Macdonald,  but  I  was  not  at  all  sure  that  she 
would  not  continue  to  flirt  with  him,  and  of  course  in  such  a 
case  a  refusal  would  go  for  nothing ;  especially  as  I  had 
reason  to  believe  that  Mr;  Macdonald  sought  Jessie  for  some- 
thing besides  her  beauty;  it  being  confidently  believed  by 
many  people,  that  Mrs.  Morris  was  very  rich,  and  meant  to 
leave  Jessie  a  good  sum  of  money.  I  was  so  anxious  to  hear 
of  his  departure,  that  John  promised  to  let  me  know  as  soon 
as  he  was  gone.  I  believe  John  thought  I  only  wished  him 
away,  because  of  his  interference  in  Mrs.  Weir's  affairs.  We 
separated  after  having  been  together  more  than  an  hour 
Just  before  John  left  me,  I  said,  "  You  are  going  to  write  to 
Roger  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  was  his  reply ;  "  and  so  are  you."  He  went  to 
the  door,  came  back  again,  and  added  :  "  Ursie,  we  don't 
always  see  things  rightly  when  we  have  a  strong  wish," 

1  knew  that  better  perhaps  than  he  could  tell  me.  When 
I  found  myself  alone.  I  took  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  wrote  a 
long  letter  to  Roger,  telling  him  that  I  must  give  up  all  hope 
of  joining  him  at  present.  Howl  had  arrived  at  the  conclu- 
sion, I  don't  know.  I  believe  it  was  through  contact  with 
an  honest  mind. 


URSULA.  301 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

If  William  and  I  had  in  the  least  understood  each  other, 
we  could  never  have  gone  on  as  we  did  during  the  nest  few 
weeks.  We  were  both  veiy  unhappy,  but  if  we  had  ex- 
plained the  cause  of  our  unhappiness  we  must  inevitably 
have  quarrelled  and  separated.  As  it  was,  we  lived  lives 
apart,  but  without  disagreement.  The  very  absence  of  any- 
thing like  real  sympathy  enabled  us  to  avoid  the  subjects 
which  would  have  jarred,  for  we  kept  upon  the  surface  of  all 
things.  In  my  self-conceit,  believing  that  I  had  more  thought, 
intellect,  and  principle,  than  Leah,  I  imagined  at  first  that  I 
could  eventually  fill  her. position,  even  in  William's  estima- 
tion, for  his  love  for  his  wife  was  by  no  means  an  overpowering 
affection  ;  but  I  was  soon  convinced  to  the  contrary.  As  there 
is  "  a  time  for  every  purpose  under  the  heaven,"  so  I  believe 
there  is  also  a  place  for  every  person.  The  great  man  can- 
not fill  the  little  man's  position ;  self-sacrifice  cannot  make 
up  for  the  absence  of  congeniality.  Not  that  I  was  great, 
nor  that  my  life  was  one  of  self-sacrifice.  I  only  used  the 
expressions  by  way  of  illustration.  Leah's  likings  and  dis- 
likings,  her  pleasures  and  pains,  even  her  temper  and  fancies, 
were  part  of  William's  home  associations ;  and  therefore  ne- 
cessary to  him.  I  believe  I  actually  fretted  him  by  trying  to 
make  no  complaint  of  the  servants,  nor  to  say  sharp  things  of 
my  neighbours.  The  watchfulness  which  I  was  striving  to 
acquire  was  stagnation  to  him,  and  I  was  too  sad  at  heart  to 
be  able  to  cheer  him  by  talking  much  upon  other  subjects. 
I  had  Jessie  Lee  with  me  whenever  she  could  be  spared,  as 
much  for  William's  sake  as  for  my  own.  The  meals  and  the 
evenings  were  so  quiet  and  silent,  I  was  thankful  to  have 
some  one  to  bring  forward  new  subjects  of  conversation,  and 
Jessie  was  generally  bright  and  amusing  in  her  way,  and 
seemed  glad  to  be  with  me.  She  was  not,  however,  in  her 
usual  spirits,  but  that  could  scarcely  be  expected,  for  she 
was  very  affectionate,  and  felt  Leah's  death  extremely. 
"Whether  there  was  any  other  cause  of  melancholy  I  could 
not  make  out.     As  to  StoneclifF,  there  was  still  the  same 


302  URSULA. 

talk,  week  after  week,  of   ]\Iiliccnt's  going  abroad,  but  the 
journey  was  always  put  off.     When  a  woman  will  follow  her 
own  fashions,   instead  of  those  marked  out  for  her  by  the 
common  sense  of  others,  it  is  surprising  what  a  mine  of  diffi- 
'  culties  she  is  likely  to  sink  into.     No  one  without  seeing 
would  have  believed  the  fancies  which  Miss  Milicent  gave 
way  to  respecting   her    French  journey ;  whims  about  her 
boxes,  her  dresses,  which  way  she  was  to  go,  how  she  was  to 
guard  against  the  weather — it  was  as  if  she  was  the  first 
person  who  had  ever  crossed  over  to   France.     She  took  it 
into  her  head  to  come  frequently  to  Sandcombe,  under  pre- 
tence of  asking  mo  what  I  thought  about  her  plans,  but  not 
in  the  least  meaning  to  listen  to  what  I  said.     She  took  up  a 
good  deal  of  my  time  in  that  way,  but  I  did  not  care  so  much 
for  that.     I  had  always  a  very  kindly  feeling  towards  her, 
but  what  I  did  dislike  was  the  frequent  mention  of  Lieuten- 
ant Macdonald's  name  in  Jessie's  presence.     There  is  noth- 
ing like  talking  of  people  to  keep  up  an  interest.     Even  if 
disagreeable  things  are  said,  it  helps  to  I'etain  them  in  one's 
recollection,  and  gives  one  a  kind  of  interest  in  them ;  and 
Miss  Milicent  of  course  could  not  always  be  complaining  of 
the  Lieutenant's  habits  and  character.     Most  frequently  she 
spoke  of  him  in  reference  to  some  information  he  had  given 
her,  and  then  I   saw  Jessie   colour  up,  and  listen  eagerly. 
Once  or  twice,  too,  Miss  Milicent  had  taken  Jessie  over  to 
Dene  with  her,  because  she  said  she  liked  a  companion,  and 
this  kept  up  the  Dene  intimacy ;  and,  moreover,  at  last,  Mrs. 
Price  actually  came  and  called  upon  nie,  pretending  she  was 
bound  to  return  the  visit  I  had  paid  with  Miss  Milicent.     I 
could  not  understand  that  in  the  least,  until  John  Hervey 
put  me  up  to  it.     "  Mrs.  Price,"  he  said,  "  is  not  noticed  by 
any  of  the  country  gentlemen's  families,  and,  as  she  finds 
Dene  dull  without  company,   she  falls  back  upon   her  old 
friends."     I  was  not  flattered  by  the  reason,  but  it  did  not 
trouble  me  much.     I  was  not  bound  to  return  the  visit,  and 
I  never  did. 

It  was  March  before  Miss  Milicent  was  ready  to  set  ofi"  on 
her  expedition.  Up  to  that  time  I  had  only  twice  been  at 
Stonecliff,  and  then  had  not  been  permitted  to  see  Mrs. 
Weir.     I  had  tried,  however,  to  show  that  I  thought  of  her, 


URSULA.  303 

by  sending  her  little  presents  of  fresli  eggs  and  vegetables. 
I  hoped  she  had  thena  and  knew  they  came  from  me,  but  Miss 
Milicent  always  seemed  in  a  mist  as  to  what  was  done  with 
them,  or  indeed  with  anything  which  once  entered  the  house 
at  Stonecliff.  The  second  week  in  March,  as  I  was  in  the 
kitchen  putting  up  a  little  basket  of  things  to  be  left  for  ]\Irs. 
Weir  by  Esther  Smithson  on  her  way  home  in  the  evening, 
William  came  in  from  the  fields  looking  very  serious,  and  said 
to  me,  "  Do  you  know,  Ursie,  I  have  had  bad  news.  I  can't 
make  out  whether  it  is  quite  true,  but  our  Hatton  boy  «ays 
that  Mrs.  Morris  is  very  ill.     Have  you  heard  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied ;  "  and  we  should  have  heard  it  certainly. 
There  can't  be  anything  in  it  ?  " 

"I  should  think  not,"  he  answered;  "but  WiW  declares 
that  his  father  was  sent  ofi"  to  Hove  for  Mr.  Sutton." 

"  Suppose  you  ride  over  and  see,"  I  said ;  "  it  would  be 
the  shortest  way." 

William  was  of  a  perverse  disposition;  he  never  liked 
having  things  suggested  to  him.  "  I  don't  know  about  leaving 
the  men,"  he  replied ;  "  they  always  go  wrong  when  I'm 
away." 

"  Well,  then,  wait  till  they  come  in  to  their  dinner,"  I 
said.  "  As  for  your  own,  they  will  give  you  some  at 
Hatton." 

"  Not  if  the  old  lady  is  ill,"  was  his  answer.  "  There  will 
be  no  one  to  get  it." 

"  I  could  go  myself,  if  you  liked  it,"  I  observed. 
He  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out.     "  The  clouds  are 
coming  up  very  stormy  away  to  the  west ;  you  can't  walk." 

"  But  I  could  be  driven,"  I  said,  "  if  you  could  spare  Joe 
Goodenough  for  the  chaise." 

"  Just  what  I  can't  do,  as  it  happens.  I  have  sent  Joe 
Goodenough  to  Hove." 

"  Well,  if  it  is  so,  we  must  even  wait,"  was  ray  answer. 
"  111  news  flics  apace,  so  if  there  is  anything  amiss,  we  may 
be  sure  it  will  reach  us  before  night." 

"  Wait  and  get  a  character  for  unfeelingness  all  round  the 
country,"  replied  William.  "  I  don't  want  to  do  that.  I  shall 
see  about  it.     I  suppose  I  must  try  and  go  myself."^ 

He  went  oif  to  do  what  I  was  sure  from  the  beginning  ho 


304  URSULA. 

meaBt  to  do.  I  should  have  preferred  going  myself,  for  if 
Mrs.  Morris  was  ill,  I  was  more  likely  than  "William  to  be  a 
comfort  to  hei\  But  what  he  said  about  walking  was  very 
true.  I  should  certainly  be  caught  in  a  storm.  The  kitchen 
window  looked  to  the  west,  and  over  St.  Anne's  hill  and  the 
reach  of  down  below  it  the  clouds  wei'e  like  ink.  There  was 
a  driving  wind,  which  perhaps  might  serve  to  keep  the  rain 
oif  for  a  time,  but  it  was  sure  to  fall  heavily  before  many 
hours  were  over.  I  went  out  after  William,  to  beg  him  to 
put  on  his  great-coat,  but  he  would  not  listen  to  me,  though 
he  shivered  as  he  stood  talking  to  one  of  his  men,  and  said  it 
was  bitterly  cold.  I  saw  him  set  oif,  and  warned  him  to 
make  haste  back ;  the  sky  looked  more  threatening  than  ever, 
but  it  tempted  me  to  go  to  the  top  of  the  lane,  that  I  might 
see  it  gathering  over  the  sea.  I  walked  by  the  side  of  AVil- 
liam's  horse,  telling  him  to  be  sure  and  bring  back  word  if 
Jessie  was  uneasy,  and  if  I  could  be  of  any  use ;  and  after 
watching  him  across  the  down  till  he  was  out  of  sight,  I  stood 
still  and  looked  round  me.  It  was  a  glorious  sight  from  the 
top  of  the  hill.  The  waves  were  tossing  furiously  in  the 
bay  ;  the  white  breakers  glittering  for  a  moment,  as  the  sun 
j^ierced  the  masses  of  clouds,  and  then  disappearing  beneath 
the  heavy  shadows  which  swept  over  the  sea,  covered  the  cliifs, 
and  rushed  across  the  land,  like  demons  of  darkness. 

From  infancy  it  had  been  a  delight  to  me  to  watch  a 
storm;  even  thunder  and  lightning  excited  far  more  than 
frightened  me.  The  spectacle  of  the  vast  Power  over  which 
human  beings  had  no  control,  raised  my  thoughts  above  earth. 
It  was  as  though  I  was  no  longer  the  weak,  ignorant  girl,  of 
no  account  even  in  the  eyes  of  my  fellow-creatures,  but  a  be- 
ing of  a  higher  race,  permitted  to  draw  near  and  watch  the 
wonderful  workings  of  Grod's  Wisdom.  The  feeling  had  been 
encouraged  by  Roger.  Often,  as  we  stood  together  in  former 
days  upon  St.  Anne's  hill,  when  the  rough  winter  winds  were 
rushing  past  us,  I  have  heard  him  murmur  to  himself  the  verses 
in  the  psalms  which  speak  of  "  the  Lord  that  commandeth 
the  waters :  "  "  the  glorious  God,  that  maketh  the  thunder." 

The  words  came  back  to  me  now ;  and  as  I  looked  at  the 
wild  waves  breaking  upon  the  line  of  red  shingles,  I  continued 
them  aloud  :  "  It  is  the  Lord  that  ruleth  the  sea  ;  the  voice 


URSULA.  305 

of  the  Lord  is  mighty  in  operation  :  the  voice  of  the  Lord 
is  a  glorious  Voice." 

"  Is  it  you,  Ursie  Grant  ?  "  said  some  one,  tapping  me  on 
the  shoulder. 

"  Miss  Milicent !  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  I  didn't  see  you." 

"  How  should  you  ?  I  came  from  behind.  What  are  you 
doing  here  ?  " 

"  Watching  the  storm,"  I  said ;  "  it  will  soon  come  to 
us." 

''  But  not  stay,  I  hope.     I  go  to-morrow,  Ursie." 

"  Not  in  such  weather,  surely  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  Ursie  ;  I  must  be  off  anyhow." 

"  Oh  !  Miss  Milicent,  are  you  right  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  must  do  what  I  have  set  my  mind  to 
do ;  and  what  does  it  signify,  Ursie,  storm  or  no  storm,  one 
shall  reach  the  end  somehow." 

Her  tone  was  so  excited,  that  I  turned  to  look  at  her 
with  anxiety. 

"  When  we  do  what  is  put  before  us,  we  needn't  be  afraid, 
I  suppose,"  she  continued  ;  "  and  if  the  end  cuts  us  short,  it  is 
God's  will,  and  no  matter  whether  it  be  by  storm  or  fever." 

"  I  should  be  glad,  though,  to  feel  that  I  was  doing  His 
work,"  I  replied  ;  "  but  that  is  the  doubt  to  me  very  often, 
Miss  Milicent." 

She  stopped  before  answering.  "  Do  you  often  doubt, 
Ursie,"  she  said,  "  really  doubt?" 

"  Very  often,"  I  replied  ;  "  I  think  at  the  time  I  am  right. 
When  I  look  back  I  see  I  was  wrong." 

"  That  can't  be  a  pleasant  discovery,"  she  replied,  thought- 
fully. 

"  No,"  I  said ;  "  but  it  has  come  upon  mc  more  fre- 
quently than  usual  of  late.  Death  makes  us  think,  Miss 
Milicent,  whether  we  will  or  not." 

"  It  is  the  end  of  the  storm,"  she  said,  and  a  singular 
look  of  awe  crossed  her  face.  "  Ursie,  if  I  were  never  to 
come  back,  what  should  you  say  of  me  ?  " 

An  exclamation  of  pain  at  the  idea  escaped  me.  She 
stopped  me  short.  "No  matter  for  the  thought,  Ursie ;  I 
am  not  a  bit  nearer  to  it  for  uttering  it.  What  should  you 
say  of  me  ?  " 


306  URSULA. 

"  In  -what  way,  Miss  Milicent  ?  "  I  asked.  "  You  have 
been  a  good  friend  to  me  always." 

"Pshaw  !  "  she  exclaimed,  impatiently.  "  What  is  being 
a  good  friend  ?  I  have  not  beaten  you  nor  turned  you  out 
of  doors, — that's  all.  Would  you  say,  Ursie,  that  I  had 
gone  the  right  way  through  life  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  wish  to  go,  Miss  Milicent,  as  I  wish  it  my- 
self." 

"  I  think  you  wish  to  go  !  "  she  repeated.  "  I  don't  think 
you  have  gone,  that  means.  Ursie,  you  are  a  coward  and  a 
humbug  like  other  people." 

"  It  is  not  my  place,"  I  began — but  she  would  not  hear 
me. 

"  It  is  your  place  to  answer  my  questions,  if  it  is  my  will 
to  put  them.  What  does  place  mean,  Ursie  ?  Look  !  "  and, 
as  a  large  drop  of  rain,  the  beginning  of  the  storm,  fell  upon 
her  hand,  she  thrust  it  before  me  ; — "  God's  warnings  touch 
all  alike;  there  is  but  one  place  before  Him." 

I  was  greatly  touched  by  her  earnestness.  I  longed  to 
speak  to  her  freely,  but  the  difficulty  I  felt  was  insurmounta- 
ble. As  in  so  many  other  cases  she  had  committed  herself 
to  a  certain  course  of  action,  and  now  sought  for  approval. 
I  was  not  the  person  to  give  her  sanction  or  to  condemn  her. 

She  waited  patiently ;  so  patiently,  indeed,  Avith  her 
large,  fierce  eyes  softened  by  an  expression  of  suspense,  that 
the  very  consciousness  of  her  presence  took  from  me  the 
power  of  thinking  correctly.  I  really  could  not  answer  her ; 
I  scarcely  knew,  indeed,  what  she  wished  or  desired  me  to 
say. 

"  Miss  Milicent,"  I  replied  at  last,  "  If  you  really  want 
help  in  these  matters,  there  are  persons  much  more  fitted 
than  I  am  to  give  it." 

"  I  don't  want  help,"  she  exclaimed ;  "I  want  only  truth. 
Good-bye,  Ursie.     I  shan't  get  it  from  you." 

"  Oh  !  Miss  Milicent !  "  I  exclaimed,  and  I  took  hold  of 
her  dress  as  she  turned  from  me  ;  but  she  would  not  be  de- 
tained. When  she  hurried  away,  I  saw  her  put  her  shawl 
over  her  bonnet  to  shelter  herself  from  the  rain,  which  was 
beginning  to  fall  fast,  and  as  I  turned  to  descend  the  hill,  I 
lost  sight  of  her  completely. 


URSULA.  307 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 

Often  and  often,  in  looking  back  upon  that  conversation, 
I  have  blamed  myself  for  not  taking  advantage  of  the  op- 
portunity afforded  me  of  speaking  freely  to  Miss  Milicent 
upon  the  mistakes  I  felt  she  was  making.  And  yet,  if  I 
could  place  myself  again  in  the  same  position,  I  doubt 
whether  I  could  bring  myself  to  act  diiFercntly.  What  is 
fitting  is  such  a  strong  instinct  in  us  all,  unless  we  have  been 
spoilt  by  education.  Miss  Milicent  had  no  right  to  make  me 
her  judge  and  reprover ;  though,  if  she  had  waited  but  a 
few  minutes  longer,  I  think  I  might  by  degrees  have  felt  en- 
couraged to  state  my  opinion  more  openly.  As  it  was,  I  felt 
that  she  would  throw  upon  me  the  blame  of  having  been  too 
cowardly  to  advise  her.  What  had  brought  her  to  such  a 
state  of  mind  now  I  could  only  guess.  She  was  coming 
from  Compton ;  it  was  probable  that  some  conversation  with 
Mr.  Richardson  had  made  her  angry,  and  yet  touched  her 
conscience.  I  knew  through  Mrs.  Kemp,  that  from  tlie  be- 
ginning he  had  told  her  she  was  forming  foolish  plans  by 
herself.  Most  likely  he  had  been  making  a  last  eifort  to 
bring  her  to  reason,  and  wishing  to  find  some  support  for  her 
own  wilfulness,  she  had  turned  to  me.  I  was  uncomfortable 
when  I  reached  home,  and  thought  a  good  deal  about  her  as 
I  took  my  solitary  dinner;  but  I  was  too  busy  afterwards  to 
dwell  upon  the  subject,  except  when  the  wind  rose  higlier, 
and  I  remembered  what  she  had  said  about  the  next  day, 
and  wondered  whether  she  would  still  persist  in  her  determi- 
nation to  go  whatever  might  be  the  state  of  the  weather. 

There  was  one  person,  however,  whom  no  press  of  busi- 
ness could  drive  from  my  recollection.  We  were  expecting 
letters  from  Roger,  the  first  that  could  have  arrived  since  he 
had  heard  of  Leah's  death.  I  did  not  believe  they  would  come 
that  evening.  They  could  not,  unless  some  one  brought  them 
out  from  Hove,  and  I  knew  no  one  had  been  sent  in ;  but  the 
bare  possibility  agitated  me.  As  the  afternoon  closed  in, 
and  the  wind  went  down,  and  the  rain  turned  first  into  .«<loet, 
and  then  into  a  heavy  fall  of  snow,  I  drew  my  chair  near  iho 
fire,  waiting  for,  and  expecting  William's  return  ;  and  whilst 
I    ^Yorked   busily   with   my  fingers,   occupied  myself  with 


308  URSULA, 

anxious  thotifrlits  of  Rocjer  in  his  distant  Canadian  home,  and 
I  am  afraid  with  many  other  anxious  and  repining  fancies, 
suflBcient,  if  I  had  examined  them,  to  prove  to  me  that  my 
own  mind  was  far  too  undisciplined  to  allow  of  my  attempting 
to  discipline  Miss  Milicent's. 

By  half-past  five  it  was  so  dark  that  I  lighted  a  candle, 
which  made  everything  beyond  its  own  sphere  darker.  I 
wished  William  would  come,  and  began  to  be  afraid  that  he 
was  really  detained  by  Mrs.  Morris's  illness.  When  I  listened 
for  his  horse's  steps,  I  heard  nothing  but  the  low  moaning  of 
the  wind,  as  it  drifted  the  snow-flakes  to  the  earth,  and  the 
solemn  ground-swell,  betokening  that  worse  weather  was  at 
hand.  I  grew  nervous  at  last.  The  candle  flickered  as 
draughts  of  air  made  their  way  through  the  closed  shutters 
of  the  old  windows,  and  then  the  shadows  on  the  wall  seemed 
to  move,  and  I  fancied  the  door  was  opened,  and  when  I  went 
to  close  it  I  caught,  as  I  imagined,  a  murmur  of  strange 
voices  by  the  front  stairs,  and  stole  along  the  stone  passage  to 
listen,  and  hear  nothing ;  and  made  my  way  back  again  with 
the  feeling  that  I  ought  not  to  be  alone,  that  I  must  find 
some  one  in  the  parlour  waiting  for  me — Leah  used  to  be 
there. 

•  I  was  ashamed  of  such  fancies — I  felt  they  were  wrong. 
I  thought  I  would  read  a  Psalm  to  myself  and  chase  them 
away,  and  I  turned  to  that  which  had  been  so  vividly  brought 
before  me  on  that  very  day.  I  read  it  aloud  to  myself — 
again  I  came  to  the  words,  "  it  is  the  Lord  that  ruleth  the 
sea,"  when  a  sound  struck  me — a  sound  once  heard,  never  to 
be  forgotten — the  faint  but  heavy  booming  of  a  gun — a  signal 
from  a  ship  in  distress. 

It  was  not  unusual.  There  were  many  wrecks  in  the 
winter  season.  The  coast  had  been  known  as  dangerous, 
from  the  days  when  the  old  monks  lighted  their  beacons  on 
the  summit  of  St.  Anne's,  and  prayed  that  God  would  pro- 
tect his  servants  in  perils  of  waters.  More  than  ever,  I 
wished  that  William  was  at  home  ;  he  would  have  sent  off  his 
men  to  the  shore  instantly,  probably  even  he  might  have 
gone  with  them,  for  he  was  kind-hearted  when  roused  by  any 
urgent  call.  I  did  not  like  .to  take  the  responsibility  of 
sending  the  men  myself,  and  yet  I  could  not  endure  the  idea 
of  sitting  still  and  doing  nothing,  and,  in  my  restlessness,  I 


URSULA.  309 

went  out  to  the  front  door  to  listen  again.  Another  booming 
sound  reached  my  ears.  I  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  as 
tlie  figure  of  a  man  at  that  instant  crossed  the  yard  in  the 
dusk,  I  ran  out  to  stop  him.  "  I  must  speak  to  you,"  I  ex- 
claimed, "  come  in;  do  you  hear  the  gun?"  and  I  touched 
him,  thinking  to  gain  his  attention.  He  made  no  answer. 
"  Do  you  hear  it  ?  "  T  repeated.  Still  there  was  no  reply, 
but  he  followed  me  into  the  house.  I  stopped  at  the  door. 
There  was  a  faint  light  in  the  passage  from  the  fire  in  the 
kitchen.  "  Is  it  you,  Joe  Goodenough  ?  "  I  said.  The  man 
laid  his  hand  upon  mine,  and,  as  I  started  back,  a  voice, 
half-laughing,  half-trembling  with  agitation,  said,  "  Not  Joe, 
my  little  Trot,  but  Roger  !  " 

I  don't  think  I  screamed.  I  am  quite  sure  I  did  not 
faint.  I  remember  that  I  led  Roger  into  the  parlour,  and 
took  off  his  great-coat,  and  put  him  into  the  arm-chair,  and 
sat  myself  down  beside  him,  even  as  if  we  had  been  parted 
only  for  a  few  hours,  and  never  till  then  asked  him  the  ques- 
tion where  he  came  from,  and  what  brought  him.  Once 
with  me  and  all  seemed  natural.  He  inquired  hastily  about 
William,  and  seemed  very  anxious  to  know  how  tilings  were 
going  on,  and  then  he  said,  "  Mr.  Pierce  is  dead.  Trot ;  I  am 
come  home  at  his  last  request.  That  is  one  thiug.  Poor 
Leah's  death  is  another." 

I  knew  all  that  was  contained  in  the  last  sentence.  He 
had  thought  of  me.  I  answered,  "  There  have  beeu  terrible 
changes.     We  feared  Mr.  Pierce  might  die." 

"  Yes,  it  has  been  a  grievous  business.  He  was  not  fitted 
for  the  climate  or  the  work.  I  hope  I  was  a  comfort  to 
him.  But  you  have  had  a  hard  time  too,  my  little  Trot,  my 
precious  little  woman."  He  seized  me  with  his  old  bear's 
hug,  and  I  felt  tears  drop  upon  my  cheek ;  we  could  neither 
of  us  trust  ourselves  to  say  more  just  then.  He  had  landed 
only  that  day,  and  had  had  little  to  eat.  I  went  out  to  order 
something  for  him,  and  came  back  again  to  ask  him  about 
the  ship ;'  should  any  one  be  sent  off?  He  satisfied  my  mind. 
As  he  came  ofi'  the  down  he  had  met  people  going  across. 
There  would  be  sufficient  help.  The  night  was  calm,  though 
dark,  and  he  did  not  think  I  need  be  uneasy. 

Oh  !  the  blessing  of  resting  upon  another  instead  of  de- 
ciding for  oneself     Women  may  like  power,  but  I  can  never 


310  URSULA. 

believe  that  it  is  in  their  nature  to  like  the  responsibility 
which  goes  with  it.  I  told  Martha  to  get  tea  quickly,  and 
would  have  gone  away  myself  to  hurry  her,  but  Roger  was 
just  as  he  used  to  be,  so  patient  about  his  own  comfort.  He 
should  like  a  biscuit  and  a  glass  of  wine,  he  said,  and  then  he 
would  wait  till  William  came.  We  would  have  tea  together. 
"  Home  faces  are  better  than  tea,"  he  remarked,  as  he  grasped 
my  hand,  and  held  it  tight.  "  Oh !  Ursie,  there's  nothing 
like  Old  England  after  all" 

We  spoke  of  Leah  then.  He  felt  so  tenderly  about  her. 
I  saw  he  could  not  reconcile  himself  to  Sandcombe  without 
her.  His  loving  heart  seemed  to  have  no  power  of  retaining 
disagreeable  impressions  of  any  one  living,  much  less  of  the 
dead.  To  hear  him  talk  of  his  old  neighbours  and  ac- 
quaintances, even  of  the  Shaws  and  Prices,  one  might  have 
thought  that  they  had  been  conferring  favours  upon  him  all 
his  life. 

People  had  been  very  kind  to  him  in  Canada,  he  said, 
and  he  had  no  doubt  that  if  he  chose  to  go  back  ho  should 
do  well.  But  the  necessary  exposure  to  the  intense  cold 
during  this  first  winter,  and  the  anxiety  about  Mr.  Pierce, 
had  tried  him  greatly.  The  voyage  home  had  done  him 
good,  and  he  was  looking  well,  but  this  first  experience  of 
exile  had  not  been  quite  successful.  As  he  went  more  into 
details  about  his  own  alFairs,  I  found  that  Leah's  death  had 
in  some  way  afi"ected  his  money  arrangements  with  William, 
and  there  was  a  question  about  laying  out  his  little  capital 
in  Canada,  which  could  not  well  be  determined  until  he  had 
had  a  communication  with  William.  "  So  you  see  I  had 
more  reasons  than  one  for  returning,  Ursie,"  he  said,  "  and 
as  poor  Mr.  Pierce  took  care  to  provide  me  with  the  means, 
I  thought  I  shouldn't  be  wrong,  though  I  felt  it  was  follow- 
ing my  own  wishes.     I  had  a  longing —  " 

"  To  see  me,"  I  said,  as  I  looked  up  at  him  eagerly.  He 
patted  my  cheek  and  laughed  ;  but  a  grave  look  came  over 
his  face,  and  directly  afterwards,  he  went  on  saying  some- 
thing about  Leah.  I  knew  as  well  as  possible  all  that  passed 
through  his  mind ;  it  was  what  passed  through  mine  like- 
wise. We  could  not  part  perhaps  for  ever  without  one  more 
meeting. 

We  waited  till  seven  o'clock,  and  still  William  did  not 


URSULA.  311 

come.  I  made  Roger  liave  his  tea  then,  and  in  my  happi- 
ness did  not  think  of  being  uneasy  about  William,  only  I 
was  impatient  that  he  should  see  Roger.  But  when  the 
clock  struck  nine,  I  did  really  think  it  very  strange,  and  I 
agreed  to  Roger's  proposal,  that  he  should  go  up  to  the  top 
of  the  hill  and  call  out.  The  night  was  pitch  dark,  and  the 
snow  still  falling,  and  in  spite  of  William's  knowledge  of 
the  tracks  over  the  down,  it  was  not  at  all  impossible  that 
he  might  lose  his  way.  I  could  not  help  being  amused  at 
the  contemptuous  tone  in  which  Roger  spoke  of  the  weather. 
"  What  was  English  cold  ?  "  he  said,  as  I  helped  him  on 
with  his  great-coat,  but  he  knew  how  to  wrap  himself  up 
uncommonly  well,  and  went  out  pleased,  I  am  sure,  rather 
than  not,  at  having  to  encounter  his  old  enemy. 

Not  above  ten  minutes  afterwards,  I  heard  quite  a 
chorus  of  men's  voices  in  the  entrance.  William  was  there 
and  Roger,  and  there  were  one  or  two  others  besides.  But 
they  were  merry  enough,  and  I  was  satisfied  there  was  no- 
thing amiss.  The  men  went  into  the  kitchen,  William  came 
into  the  parlour,  blinking  at  the  light,  and  putting  a  hand- 
kerchief to  his  eyes,  but  with  his  hand  resting  upon  Roger's 
shoulder,  and  asking  him  more  questions  than  could  by  any 
possibility  be  answered.  "  He  was  lost,"  said  Roger,  laugh- 
ing heartily.     "  You  would  not  believe  it,  Ursie,  but  he  was." 

"  And  frightened  out  of  my  senses  when  I  was  found," 
exclaimed  William.  "  What  was  I  to  make  of  it,  Ursie,  when 
I  heard  a  man,  who  I  thought  hundreds  of  miles  away,  hal- 
looing close  at  my  side  in  the  dark  ?  I  would  walk  fifty 
miles,  and  be  present  at  a  hundred  shipwrecks,  before  I 
would  have  such  a  fright  again.  But  welcome  for  all  that, 
my  good  fellow,"  and  he  shook  Roger's  hand  till  I  thought 
it  would  have  come  oiF. 

"  Then  there  has  been  a  shipwreck  ?  "  I  inquired  anx- 
iously. 

"  A  wreck,  but  no  lives  lost.  Heaps  of  oranges  for  tlie 
Hatton  people  to  feast  on  to-morrow,  and  plenty  of  salt  wa- 
ter to  give  them  a  pleasant  flavour.  I  should  have  been 
back  here  three  hours  ago  but  for  the  wreck.  It  was  bitter 
work  down  on  the  shore ;  and  the  wind  seems  to  have  caught 
my  eyes,  they  smart  terribly." 

"  And  how  did  you  find  Mrs.  Morris  ?  "  I  asked. 


312  URSULA. 

"  Baddish,  very  bad,  Jessie  says.  I  didn't  see  ber.  Tbe 
doctors  tbink  it  is  a  break  up."  • 

"Poor  Jessie!"  I  exclaimed.  "Did  you  tell  ber  I 
would  go  over  to  ber  any  moment  ?  " 

"  Sbe  does  not  want  belp,  so  sbe  declares,  but  I  promised 
ber  you  sbould  be  tbere  to-morrow.  Sbe  is  not  a  girl  to  be 
left  to  berself  in  a  difficulty." 

"  I  could  drive  you  over,  Ursie,"  said  Roger. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  carelessly ;  "  but,  William,  wbo  are  tbose 
men  in  tbe  kitcben  ?  " 

"  Compton  fellows,  wbo  were  down  on  tbe  sbore  belping 
about  tbe  wreck.  AVe  were  all  going  wrong  togetber  wben 
Roger  bailed  us.  It's  bis  doing,  baving  tbem  in  and  giving 
tbem  a  glass  of  ale.  I  am  not  given  to  sucb  extravagance, 
Ursie,"  and  William  laugbed  tbe  first  bearty  laugb  I  bad 
beard  since  Leab's  deatb. 

I  went  out  to  tbe  men  myself  to  see  if  tbey  bad  every 
tbing  comfortable,  Tbey  were  making  a  bearty  supper,  and 
it  did  my  beart  good  to  see  sometbing  like  tbe  old  Sand- 
combe  bospitality,  wbicb  I  used  to  bear  of  in  my  young  days. 
Tbey  were  not  gone  till  nearly  ten  o'clock.  Wben  I  went 
back  to  tbe  parlour  I  found  William  and  Roger  sitting  over 
tbe  fire,  deep  in  business  already.  Roger  started  up  as  I 
put  a  candle  before  bim,  and  told  bim  it  was  time  to  go  to 
bed. 

"  Time  !  not  yet.  Trot ;  why  tbe  evening  is  just  begun." 

"  It  is  time,  tbougb,"  I  said,  "  for  folks  wbo  must  get  up 
witb  tbe  cock-crowing." 

He  lingered  a  little,  tbinking.  "  Trot,  you  and  I  used 
to  tbank  God  for  taking  care  of  us,  before  we  went  to  bed. 
I  bave  come  tbrougb  a  rougb  time  lately.  Wbat  do  you  say, 
William  ;  migbtn't  we  bave  prayers  ?  " 

William  was  taken  so  by  surprise  be  could  not  object, 
and  I  don't  believe  be  wisbed  it.  I  stepped  out  of  tbe  room, 
and  called  Martba,  and  we  all  knelt  down,  and  Roger  said 
some  of  tbe  prayers  from  tbe  evening  service,  and  thanked 
God  for  bringing  bim  safe  bome.  Tbat  was  tbe  first  begin- 
ning of  family  prayer  at  Sandcombe. 

END    OF    THE    FIRST    VOLUME,  ^ 


IL7 


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